The typing bubble reappears, and he replies within seconds.Amazing!Meet you at the entrance of the museum at 5 PM.
My classes get over at 3, and I take the next bus from the university to the museum.It will take me about two hours to get there, so I take the earliest bus.Most people prefer travelling by train, but I like travelling by bus.It gives me time to watch all the places I pass before I reach my destination.And the fresh air doesn’t hurt.
I get off the bus and walk towards the museum.I expect to wait for some time for Cooper to be here because I arrived fifteen minutes earlier than planned.But when I get to the entrance, Cooper stands there, his back turned to me, wearing a navy-blue t-shirt and grey jeans.‘Hey,’ I say, reaching right behind him.
He jumps before turning to me.I press my lips, trying hard not to let the laugh break out of me.He looks down, and he rubs the back of his neck.‘Ha, you got me back for all those times I startled you.’
I look away to the side.‘It wasn’t intended, for the most part,’ I respond.
Our eyes meet, and a slow smile materialises on both of our lips.‘Wait, how are you here early?I didn’t expect you to be here already.Ishouldn’t even be here this early,’ I ask.
‘I noticed that you reached the riverside early, and I didn’t want you to wait alone in case that happened today too.’
‘Oh.’I am used to waiting for people.This takes me by surprise.
‘Anyway, shall we go inside?’he asks.
‘Sure.But I wanted to ask, why the art gallery?’I ask him as we walk up the stairs to the door.
‘I come here regularly to sit and draw the paintings, for practice.’
I soak in his answer; he is serious about his career.And with the discipline and passion he has for art, I silently wish that he achieves big things in life.
We pass by different paintings, and my brain recognises certain pieces that my Dad has talked about as an art reviewer.But even if I recognise them, I let Cooper explain the significance and the history behind them.I like hearing him talk passionately about art.And for the paintings that neither of us know anything about, we don’t need context – we appreciate the beauty of the piece for what it is.
Once we walk around for an hour, he sits near a painting and opens his sketchbook.He grabs a pencil from his pencil case and starts sketching.I stand away from him, not knowing what to do.
‘What are you doing?Come sit with me.’
I walk over to him, uncertainty in my steps.‘I thought you would want privacy to sketch.’
‘I don’t mind you sitting with me, if you won’t get bored while I sketch.’
‘Of course not, Cooper.I’d love to watch you work.’I sit next to him, leaving an arm’s distance between us.
A side of his mouth lifts from my response.He takes out his wired earphones, connects it into his phone, and scrolls through the songs in his playlist.I turn towards the people around us, but he taps my shoulder to get my attention.He holds one side of the earphone in my direction, his eyes darting between my eyes and his hand.
‘Are you sure?’I ask as I take the earbud from his hand.
‘Yes.I hope I don’t bore you with my playlist, it has all of my favourite songs.’
I tuck the earbud into my ear, and the first song plays;Mystery of Loveby Sufjan Stevens.I already know that I am going to have the best time listening to songs and watching him effortlessly whip up masterpieces with the casual flick of a wrist.
***
Once Cooper finisheshis sketch, which takes my breath away, he leads us to the best Pho he promised me.I have had a few Phos in my life, but nothing memorable.I am curious as to where he is taking me.We weave through the ever-existing crowd of London city and step into a narrow street, and reach the most unassuming restaurant.‘Bowls of Magic?’
‘Trust me,’ he responds as we step into the place.
He moves through the restaurant with the familiarity of a frequent visitor – acknowledging the owners, knowing the best tables to sit at and ordering the regular.I wait while he orders the chicken Phos at the till, after which he joins me at the table.
It feels like no time has passed.Within minutes, steaming bowls of Pho make their way to our table, followed by a glass of a chocolate-coloured drink topped with a spiral mountain of whipped cream and a cherry on top.We thank the waiter and look at each other while the steam momentarily creates a wall between us.
‘Go on then, I am waiting to see your reaction.’
I position the chopsticks between my fingers in my right hand and hold the soup spoon in my left.I twirl the noodles with my chopsticks and lift it to my mouth.I dip the soup spoon to fill it with the broth, and follow the bite with the savoury liquid.I chew on the al dente noodles and sip on the broth at the same time; a marriage of the different flavours and textures in my mouth.My eyes widen, and I let out a hum instinctively.
‘So, I take it that you love it?’Cooper asks, smirking at me.
