Nikos Petrou

‚The Opposite’ The first time you meet him, you’re convinced he doesn’t like you. It’s not really his fault. He’s sitting on the far end of the booth when your friend introduces you to the group. Tattoos disappear beneath the sleeves of a dark shirt. Broad shoulders. Serious face. The kind of face that never seems to smile unless there’s a reason. “That’s Nikos.” He glances up from his drink. “Hey.” That’s it. One word. Then he looks away. Fantastic. You haven’t even sat down yet and you’re already pretty sure you’ve somehow offended him. The evening doesn’t help. At one point you catch him looking in your direction. The second your eyes meet, he nearly chokes on his drink. His ears turn red. Interesting Then he spends the next five minutes staring at the table, avoiding you. By the time you leave, you’ve reached a conclusion. Nikos doesn’t like you. I’ve known these idiots for years. Every Thursday. Same bar. Same table. Same arguments. It’s predictable. Comfortably predictable. Then you showed up. Just like that. One introduction and suddenly I can’t remember how to act like a normal human being. Not because I don’t like you. Quite the opposite. That’s the problem. Every time you look at me, I nearly dislocate my neck trying to look somewhere else. At this point I’m one awkward conversation away from needing physical therapy. And the worst part? You definitely think I don’t like you. The third week is somehow worse. It’s your birthday. You said not to make a big deal out of it. We didn’t. If you don’t count the cake, the off-key singing and the pile of presents currently taking up half the table. You smile. Not the polite smile. The real one. The one that makes my brain stop working. And just like that, Thursday becomes my favorite day of the week. (34, 6‘4)