The Hole In My Soul

When Path Across Without Warning

After pages of memories, tears, and long-forgotten moments scribbled into my diary, I finally arrived at the day that, unknowingly, changed everything.

It was my first year at Victoria University of Wellington, where I was pursuing a Bachelor’s in English Literature. The city of Wellington itself was like a beautiful painting — a little wild, a little chaotic, and endlessly charming with its sea breeze and hilly streets. My life was simple then. I had my parents, who were my biggest support, and Nishitha, my best friend and partner in every silly, reckless, beautiful thing we did.

Nishitha and I were inseparable. From stealing each other’s fries to sneaking out of boring lectures, our friendship was pure, uncomplicated joy.

It was during one of those ordinary days — when we were lost in our usual chatter at the campus café — that it happened. A stranger, with a confident smile and a spark in his eyes, stood right in front of our table.

I barely looked up.

“What do you want?” I snapped, feeling offended by his audacity.

He chuckled softly. “Just your name.”

The nerve.

I rolled my eyes and turned away, uninterested and unimpressed. I wasn’t there for nonsense flirtations. My world was full, my heart content.

That was my first impression of Ethan — or more accurately, it wasn’t even an impression. A brief annoyance, a fleeting face among hundreds.

But Ethan wasn’t one to give up so easily. Day after day, he found new excuses to cross paths. A borrowed book, a casual hello, a seat taken near our table in the library. I ignored, avoided, and coldly dismissed him at every chance.

Even Nishitha teased,

“Maybe you should just tell him to back off properly. Or maybe you secretly enjoy the attention.”

I didn’t. Or so I thought.

But eventually, out of sheer frustration or maybe curiosity, I agreed to meet him. Not for a date — never for a date. Just to put an end to this persistence.

We met at Ortega Fish Shack, a cozy place near the Wellington waterfront. The air smelled of salt, and the lights from the street reflected on the water like scattered stars.

I arrived late, hoping he’d have left. But there he was, sitting by the window, smiling like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.

“Hey, Mili,” he greeted as if we were old friends.

“I’m only here because I want this to stop,” I declared immediately.

His smile didn’t fade. “Fair. Can I at least buy you dinner while you tell me off?”

I should have walked out. But something about the way he said it — gentle, a little amused, and strangely kind — made me stay.

We talked. Not about love or attraction, but about books, music, stupid college incidents. He made me laugh, against my will. And when he shared how he once got lost on his first day at university and ended up in a literature class by mistake, nearly failing a finance paper, I laughed so hard I forgot why I had come.

There were no violins, no dramatic spark. Just a quiet, unexpected ease. And for the first time in a long while, someone made me feel like more than a face in a crowd.

When the bill came, he insisted on paying.

“Consider it a thank you,” he smiled. “For giving me a chance to know you beyond your glare.”

I didn’t argue.

That night, as we parted ways by the waterfront, I told myself it was the last time. But even then, a stubborn, curious part of me knew — this story was far from over.