It's a date...

I hate waiting.

It’s tedious, mind numbing and a waste of time I’ve always been short on. But, worst of all, it’s nerve-wracking. Because the longer you wait, the more it feels you’re waiting for nothing.

Involuntarily, I start tapping my foot and that’s my cue to peel myself off the bench I’ve been glued to for the past twenty minutes. But not before unlocking my phone and pulling up Hinata’s chat.

Luca: Are we still on for today?

Sent, but not received. Last seen: 15:16. A minute away from two hours ago. Don’t know what I wanna do more: sigh or punch a tree. So, I compromise on a long stroll around the sundial she told me to meet her by. That should help calm me down.

I get up, fix my shirt, then set off at a leisurely pace, only to find the park desolate. The alleys are an empty, liminal nightmare. Chilly winds wheeze through shivering hedges. From impossibly far away comes the sharp laughter of children.

Stopping by a playground, I spot the two culprits. A he and a she playing in a jungle gym, the girl balancing atop the bars with the boy right behind, trying to catch her. And suddenly, the thought that Hinata’s not gonna show up flashes through my head. It vanishes right after, but leaves behind a cold sting. The kind you only get when you were flush with excitement before.

Dejected, I turn around only to run into a summer dream. Breezy sundress, open-toed sandals, hair braided in a crown. Staring at me with a glimmer in her bright blue eyes.

“Wow, I – wow,” Hinata says, in a tone I’m too stunned to decode.

“Wow bad or – wow good?” I ask, suddenly feeling underdressed in my polo shirt and ‘fancy’ tennis shoes. But that feeling goes away, when she gets closer, blushing through her blush.

“Good. Very good. I didn’t know your hair could ever look like that.”

“Pomade works miracles.”

“And you’re wearing cologne?”

“Thought it’d be a nice touch,” I shrug with a smile as shy as Hinata’s. Only a second later, hers grows bright and mischievous.

“Let’s go then,” she announces, locking our fingers together. And before I can protest, she’s dragging me along like a kid with a balloon.

First, we need to get out of the park. Languidly, we cut through the freshly-clipped grass, filling our lungs with its fresh scent, then hide from the afternoon sun in the shadow of the railway bridge. And, as we cross under it, the air ripens with the blessed tang of seawater and the distant crash of waves.

Soon, we spill onto the streets and join the laminar flow of people venturing deeper into Mihama. But we don’t peel off towards the outlets, don’t enter the arcades, the cinemas and bookshops. No, we keep on going straight, as most everyone does. And that has me wondering – where is she taking me – but more importantly, why?

The answer comes after we climb some stairs, in the form of a sign written in Japanese with English subtitles: Makuhari Messe. One of the country’s largest convention centres. Sleek, modern and far too specific for just a casual outing.

We pass under the red archways and enter a busy corridor, which Hinata leads me through without a false turn or step. She’s been here before, but more than that, she’s driven, she has a goal in mind. One that becomes clear as we enter the main hall.

Dusk filters through ceiling windows, a blinding shawl of light. There’s shouting and wailing and cheers and jeers and a clash of aromas – charcoal, fried grease, fresh onion and caramel. A bustling esplanade trapped in a concrete prison.

It’s food trucks. Sidewalk cafes. Al fresco restaurants. All set in tidy rows, alive and aswarm with visitors. With pairs. Old and young, gay and straight, shy and bold. Sharing posh pasta and cheap calvados. Whispering giddy nothings into tingling ears. Holding long, loving gazes. And all at once – it hits me.

“It’s a date...” I think out loud, quieting the world around us.

Hinata furrows her brow, unfurls it with a tense breath. “Looks like one, doesn’t it?”

“Only looks?”

“Luca,” she says, light and frail like glass breaking, “do we really need the label? Can’t we just have fun without one?”

I watch her watching me, her eyes blurry with thoughts. We don’t need labels, no. But going on without one feels off-kilter, dishonest, wrong. Like fighting the natural order, being two persons in a sea of couples. But the way her hand slots into mine – it’s intoxicatingly right.

So, “Fuck it,” I chuckle. “Lead the way.”

And lead she does, though she doesn’t have to. At the biggest culinary exhibition in all of Asia, entertainment is served, not ordered.

We start in the far corner, commandeering the arcade machines at a retro pub. She kicks my ass at Pinball, I crush her at Space invaders. Together, we beat the high score on DDR. Glimpse BE LOVIN’s world record. A mocktail float is our consolation, one glass – two straws. Our cheeks touch when we savour it, welding with sweat and heat.

Then it’s pictures, pictures everywhere. Dancing with western maids. Petting the cat-cafe kittens. Selfies with vikings, punk rockstars, jesters. And to play into the trope, we hit a photo booth and let the poses come to us. Tongues out and heart signs. We leave the reel behind. Don’t need it to remember the moment.

Stomachs growling, we seek some bites to eat. Crepes for an appetiser, free samples for the main course, yakitori for dessert. Wash it all down with vending machine sodas, because we’re broke and we love it. Hinata hands me a can, grinning like a maniac. And I know what she’s plotting, but if I let it on, I would’ve missed her giggling as I’m blasted by sweet and sticky spray.

I wipe my face on my sleeve. Hinata scampers off, stops a couple paces away. Eyes wide and teasing. I’m gonna run, she says. I’ll be right behind, I answer.

We take off. A light jog through the crowded aisled. Dodging overweight tourists, swerving past waiters with food carts. We only catch our breaths in the centre, arranged like a rustic idyll. Garlands of fairy lights hung above an ivory fountain. Hinata climbs on the pool’s lip. She glances back at me. Smirks. I’m gonna fall, she says. I’ll catch you this time, I do.

She’s in my arms, a warm fuzz that steals me from reality. A long second passes where all I can feel is Hinata, the heat of her face, the thrill in her gasps for air, the way she smiles into my chest. But soon, too soon, the bliss shatters, falls apart with rosy shards.