Truth or Dare by JJ Courtney

When she leaves, I sniff the pillows. Excessive, after a first date? Maybe. I do feel a bit ridiculous. But at the same time, the smell prompts a range of exciting emotions that I don’t think I’d have experienced otherwise, triggering a level of desire and nostalgia that almost leaves me short for breath.

“Last seen online at 13:53.”

*****She still hasn’t messaged. She did warn she might not initially (a polite and classy touch, I’d say). Life is busy for everyone, I suppose, with countless other people to deal with and various boring tasks to attend to. And that’s ok. But nothing else is able to seep into my mind. My thoughts feel stuck on a continuous loop, rotating between her cheek dimple and infectious laughter and tiny black dress.

“Eighteen unread messages from three contacts.”

*****And none matter – it’s all group-chat bollocks. So I go about my day, even if every movement and action seems to carry less significance. Then, three little words jolt me like an electric shock. Three words and I’m buzzing, shamelessly exhilarated.

“Hey, hows you?”

*****Yet I rein in my response. I fight my enthusiasm and suppress it with instinctive awareness, knowing that looking too keen won’t do me any favours. I delay its release too. Time it like it’s the perfect through-ball.

*****She replies. We talk. She goes. Nothing substantial or notable is said, and without warning, a realisation hits me.

*****Physical contact accounts for only about 1% of my interactions with her. We’ve had one date. The rest has just been surface-level messages exchanged from the safety of a screen. And how much can you really learn from that? From clichés and emojis and dream holiday destinations?

*****Following this realisation, a theory forms in my head: if I don’t truly know her, she isn’t solely responsible for the reaction I’ve had. Instead, I’ve taken her flawless appearance and ability to engage in polite conversation, and run away with it. I’m treating her as something she couldn’t have possibly proven herself to be.

“I can’t wait to see you again.”

*****The exhilaration returns again with even more potency, and suddenly the theory is packaged up, sealed with duct tape, and launched away into the depths of my mind.

*****It stays there too. And so that night, as I lay down on the pillows, inhale the faint (but still present) scent of her perfume, and stare at her profile picture one last time, I know what I’m going to do next.

I’m going to dare to dream.

JJ is a prize-winning short fiction writer, aspiring author and self-defined social commentator (i.e. he loves a good moan). He aims to contribute to debates around free speech, equality and progress, mostly by challenging popular misconceptions. He also just likes to tell a solid story.

Photo – Reberto Nickson on Unsplash

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