everything. it meant everything to me.

I still remember it - the first time he held my hand. It was at night and we were on our way to have dinner at the only place that served nasi goreng arab in campus. It used to be our favourite until they had a new chef cooking it. It never tasted quite the same after that. 

He did it without asking; before I could even process it, the fingers of his right hand found their way between the fingers of my left. They were so much stronger than mine, but they were soft. He always had softer hands than me. It made me secretly jealous sometimes. I was going on about something and talking so fast because I was so nervous. I liked him. When he grabbed my hand, I couldn't help but tumble over my own words. I could feel him smiling. "kan dah penat," he said. I smiled too. We walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence and never talked even when we were seated. We stayed quiet for a bit while waiting for someone to take our order, the sides of our thighs touching and the smell of his sweet colongne lingering in the warm air around us. I remember wondering if it meant anything.

It didn’t.

remembering hurts, but forgetting is worse.