Page 29 of Writing Mr. Right

“See you,” I say, and even though just minutes ago I had no intention of ever returning to this store, now the idea of coming back…excites me.

My excitement dampens when I turn around to see Aashiq no longer beside me but standing beside the door. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he avoids my eyes, his gaze flitting around the room.

I sigh and place the bowl into my bag. I slip on my coat,then swing my bag onto my shoulder as I walk over to him. He opens the door and says, “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

I frown. It’s normal question, but his tone is stiff. “Aashiq, hang on,” I say. A rush of cold air sweeps inside the store, and I grit my teeth as I zip my coat.

“I saw a Thai place on the way up here,” he continues, still in a distracted tone. His pace is quick and his strides are wide, so I struggle to catch up to him in my heels. “It’s halal, too, so that’s something you wouldn’t have to worry about. I don’t know if it’s any good, though, because I haven’t checked any reviews, but it’s always nice to try something without anyone’s opinion influencing you, don’t you think? Like if I think something is good but then someone tells me it’s bad, I’ll start to think—”

I finally catch up to him, hooking my hand around his arm. “Aashiq, wait!” I exclaim, and he staggers to a halt. “I want to talk about what happened in the pottery store,” I say.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “What do you want to talk about?”

His confused tone only further confuses me. “I hurt your feelings.”

He scrunches his nose. “Didyou?”

If his expression wasn’t so earnest, I’d think he was trying to pull me into a trap. I quirk a brow. “Yes, I did. Isn’t that why you’re being… I don’t know…annoyed with me? With your tone of voice?”

Aashiq’s hand goes to his neck. “I was doing that?” His eyes widen, and his hand slips to his chest. “Wait, is that why I felt like someone pinched me here?”

My own chest prickles. “Yes, but it wasn’t justsomeone. It was me.Imade you feel like that.”

“Hmm.” He tilts his head to the side. “It’s not very comfortable.”

Despite the context, I laugh. “It’s not,” I agree. “And that’s why I have to apologize. I’m sorry I snapped at you and hurt your feelings. I was getting frustrated, and I was weirdly jealousthat you were better than me at making pottery, but that’s not an excuse to treat you poorly.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry I caused you pain.”

Aashiq nods thoughtfully. “Okay. I see. That discomfort is called pain. I didn’t know it could happen without being physically injured.”

“Yeah, well…” I bite the inside of my cheek. My mind wanders back to Rachel’s rejection letter. “Pain is funny. Words can cut way deeper than a knife sometimes.” I suddenly remember the weight of the kintsugi bowl in my bag, and my shoulders relax. “But we shouldn’t hold on to the pain forever. We can move forward from it. And when it comes to hurt feelings, that kind of pain typically goes away with forgiveness.” I tilt my head to the side. “Can you forgive me?”

Aashiq stares down at me for a long beat before he softens. “Of course I can.”

A wave of relief rolls over my body. “Thank you. And by the way, if I say or do something that bothers you again, you don’t have to walk around and pretend like it doesn’t hurt you.”

“I wasn’t pretending,” he says.

“Yeah, you were,” I reply. “By not talking to me when you were upset, you were acting like it didn’t hurt you.”

“Huh.” Aashiq furrows his brows. “I didn’t realize I was doing that. It felt like the obvious thing to do.”

“That’s because sometimes, even though we’re hurt, it feels hard to express it,” I say. I place a hand on the spot below my throat. “But you can talk to me, I promise.”

He regards me for a long beat, then nods once. “Okay.” He steps to the side, but only to wrap his arm around my shoulders. “And by the way, I wasn’t better at making the pottery than you were.”

“What do you mean?” I ask as we start walking. “You actuallymadea bowl.”

“That’s because I was focused on having fun,” he explains.“I wasn’t thinking twenty steps ahead. I focused on the here and now.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been good at that.”

“Don’t worry.” He squeezes my shoulder. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

14

After I spend a few weeks making to-do lists and observing people, Aashiq starts introducing little writing exercises into my schedule. He gives me a prompt, and I have ten minutes to write something fictional based on it, but he makes it clear it doesn’t have to be perfect or complete. It alleviates some of the pressure, and I find myself going to bed eager to discover what my morning prompt will be.

We make sure to do plenty of non-writing activities, too. We watch K-dramas together, go for runs, and continue with the pottery classes. I’m still not very good, but I’m having fun with it, so that’s what I focus on.

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