There are some young men who possess a gift for meeting young ladies in the natural course of events. They drift into acquaintanceships as effortlessly as leaves float down the Singapore River.
Then there was Andy Lim.
Andy was twenty-eight, employed in a respectable capacity by a technology firm in Fusionopolis at One-north, and endowed by nature with enough intelligence to understand cloud architecture but not enough to understand women.
For three consecutive Saturdays he had observed a young lady jogging along the Clarke Quay waterfront.
The first encounter had been entirely accidental.
The second had been sufficiently coincidental to raise an eyebrow.
The third had involved Andy setting three alarms, consulting weather forecasts, and consuming his coffee at a speed which suggested that hostile forces were advancing on his position.
The young lady appeared every Saturday at approximately 7:12 a.m.
Not 7:10.
Not 7:15.
At 7:12 she would emerge from the direction of the Read Bridge, jogging with the smooth efficiency of a well-maintained express train.
She had a pleasant smile, a confident stride, and the sort of cheerful composure which caused Andy's own composure to leave the premises entirely.
By the fourth Saturday, he had developed what military historians would recognize as a campaign plan.
The objective was simple.
He would engage the lady in conversation.
The difficulty lay in the fact that he had absolutely no idea how.
"Just say hello," advised his friend Benjamin over supper.
Benjamin belonged to that irritating class of people to whom everything seemed easy.
"That's like telling someone climbing Mount Everest to just walk uphill."
"You're overthinking."
"I am strategically preparing."
Benjamin helped himself to another chicken wing.
"You've seen her four times."
"Three and a half."
"What does that mean?"
"One time she was wearing sunglasses. Identification confidence only eighty-five percent."
Benjamin regarded him silently.
"Andy," he said at last, "you need professional help."
Saturday arrived.
The skyline glittered in the early morning light. The waters of Singapore River along Clarke Quay shimmered. Cyclists glided past.
Andy took up position near a bench.
The plan was elegant.
He would sit reading a book.
The lady would pass.
He would appear intelligent, approachable, and entirely unaware of his own attractiveness.
Unfortunately, the book he had selected was a volume on machine learning algorithms whose cover featured enough mathematical notation to alarm a physics professor.
At precisely 7:12, she appeared.
Andy attempted to look casually absorbed in Chapter Three.
The trouble was that Chapter Three contained a formula stretching across half a page.
His eyes crossed.
The lady jogged past.
Nothing happened.
The campaign had suffered a setback.
The following week he revised his strategy.
This time he would bring a dog.
People spoke to people with dogs.
The flaw became apparent when one considers that Adrian did not own a dog.
His neighbour Mrs. Tan did.
Mrs. Tan's golden retriever, Biscuit, was a friendly creature whose enthusiasm for life exceeded all known engineering tolerances.
At 7:08, Biscuit spotted a pigeon.
At 7:09, Andy was being towed across the promenade like a water-skier who had made a series of unfortunate decisions.
At 7:10, Biscuit discovered another pigeon.
At 7:11, Adrian lost one shoe.
At 7:12, the young lady arrived just in time to witness him negotiating with a shrub.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment she looked concerned.
Then amused.
Then very amused.
Andy disappeared behind a hedge.
The operation was officially a disaster.
The remarkable thing about disasters is that they occasionally succeed where brilliance fails.
The next Saturday Andy returned, his dignity partially restored and both shoes securely attached.
He was sitting on a bench contemplating whether emigration might solve his problems when a voice spoke beside him.
"How's the dog?"
Andy looked up.
The young lady stood there smiling.
For a second or two his brain performed no useful function whatsoever.
"The dog?"
"The golden retriever."
"Oh. The dog."
"Did he catch the pigeon?"
"He entered negotiations but neither side could agree on terms."
To his astonishment, she laughed.
The sound had the effect of improving the weather.
"I'm Chloe," she said.
"Andy."
A brief silence followed.
Not an awkward silence.
More the sort of silence that occurs when two people unexpectedly discover that conversation is easier than anticipated.
"I've seen you here a few times," said Chloe.
"Likewise."
"You're usually reading."
"Attempting to."
"What was the mathematical book about?"
Andy groaned.
"You saw that?"
"It looked serious."
"It was serious. I understood approximately twelve percent of it."
"I thought you were trying to impress someone."
At this point Andy felt the sensation experienced by burglars when a police officer switches on the light.
"Was it that obvious?"
"A little."
"And the dog?"
"A strategic asset."
She laughed again.
"Well," she said, "for future reference, a simple hello might work."
Andy considered the matter.
Weeks of planning.
Detailed schedules.
Complex logistical preparations.
One borrowed dog.
One lost shoe.
One damaged shrub.
And all along the solution had been a simple hello.
The realization was both humbling and educational.
They began walking along the waterfront together.
The city was fully awake now. Sunlight danced on the water. The skyline rose gleaming against the morning sky.
As they talked, Andy found that conversation required considerably less strategy than he had imagined.
Sometimes, indeed, life has a way of rewarding courage more generously than cleverness.
And if one occasionally needs a golden retriever and a pigeon to discover this fact, that is merely the sort of detail the universe seems to enjoy adding for comic effect.
Note: The above image and story were generated using ChatGPT.
Thank you for reading Daily Refreshing! 🌱
No comments:
Post a Comment