Chapter 1
Chapter One
Third First Friend Date
“Hiii,” Ziya sang, shifting gears into a skip as she closed the distance between them.
“Hi,” Amie echoed as Ziya hopped to a stop in front of her.
The butterflies in her stomach from seeing her ex-girlfriend again did little to distract from the larger issue at hand.
By the time she’d gotten to this moment the day before, she’d managed to convince herself that she was dealing with a temporary glitch, and had a very pleasant second first friend date with Ziya.
It was harder to stick with the glitch theory on the third go-around.
“I love that outfit,” Ziya commented, as Amie knew she would. “Is that a new skirt?”
Amie was wearing a brown sleeveless turtleneck and a dark plaid skirt. When she’d first dressed for this date two days before, she’d told herself that a T-shirt and jeans, even her nicest pair, were fine to wear. It was just Ziya, after all.
She’d forgotten how it felt to see an ex for the first time since a breakup.
The jeans were an instant regret. Through the haze of confusion that had surrounded Amie on her first day in the time loop, she’d somehow managed to take the opportunity to choose a different outfit.
Part of her even believed that the universe had given her a second chance solely for this reason.
After once again waking up on the 17th the following day, she discovered that she might have overestimated the level of investment the universe had in her choice of wardrobe.
“Thanks,” Amie replied, much more prepared to take the compliment this time than when she’d first received it two days before (Ziya had still complimented her then, despite the jeans). “Nah, this is old. Don’t wear it much. Nice dress.”
“Thank you!” Ziya did a spin, showing off her outfit. She was wearing a long-sleeved orange dress with a high neck and a cutout in the front. A matching orange headband stood out against her black hair, which fell down her back in thick waves as she completed her spin.
“No pockets.” Amie’s comment was only a few decibels above a murmur.
Ziya gave her a delighted smile at their seemingly shared thought. “I was about to say! It doesn’t have pockets, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”
Amie nodded, realizing she’d accidentally stepped on Ziya’s line. It was like she’d watched the same movie two days in a row, and could now recite memorable lines along with the characters.
“Earth to Amie.”
Amie looked up with a start, having zoned out. A pair of gold bangles clinked cheerfully on Ziya’s wrist as she waved a hand in front of Amie’s face. The bracelets had been recently sent to her from India by an aunt—though, as far as Ziya knew, she hadn’t told Amie that yet.
At least Amie’s distractedness had prompted an unfamiliar line from Ziya. The change in dialogue was comforting, and for a moment she was able to pretend that everything was normal. (As normal as one can be having dinner with their ex three months after the breakup.)
Having Amie’s attention again, Ziya smiled, said, “Let’s do this,” just as she had the other two nights, and led them into the restaurant.
Ziya chatted with the host as they waited to be seated, giving Amie time to collect her thoughts. She promptly squandered this opportunity, allowing her thoughts to continue rattling around in her brain as she watched her ex-girlfriend talk.
Everything about Ziya made a person feel special when she looked at them.
Amie knew she wasn’t the only one who felt this way; she could see it in everyone Ziya spoke with.
The same mix of mild surprise and delight on their faces as Ziya gave them her attention.
Amie supposed it was because Ziya had the energy of someone who lived a very interesting and exciting life, and if she was giving her attention to someone, it could only be assumed that she saw them as interesting and exciting.
And it was true. Ziya found almost everyone and everything to be truly captivating, and was always eager for more. But while she liked to fill her life with different interesting experiences, she had always been more than happy to come back home to Amie.
Ziya turned to look at her, catching her staring.
Amie jerked her gaze away, which is hands-down the worst thing to do when you’re trying to pretend that you weren’t staring at someone right after they’ve caught you very clearly staring at them.
When Amie dared to glance back over, Ziya had returned to talking to the host, who was looking at Ziya with a very familiar mix of surprise and delight.
They were seated at the same table with the same seats next to the same older couple who looked vaguely like Amie’s grandparents.
Amie put in the same order—fettuccine alfredo—and didn’t touch any of the table bread.
She had been too nervous on the first day to go for the bread, too preoccupied with her situation to do so on the second, and was now circling back to nervous.
After all, their last two dinners were good: Conversation was pleasant, food was fine, and Amie managed not to do anything embarrassing like spill her wine or say, “I’m still in love with you. ”
So, clearly, it was in her best interest to keep this meal as close to the previous two as possible.
This turned out to be easier planned than done. Ziya loved to focus in on the smallest mentions of things, so Amie had to work hard not to bring up anything that would send the conversation careening into unexplored terrain.
Her first mistake was bringing up Float City fifteen minutes too early. She said the name of the TV show in passing, realizing too late that Ziya would latch on to the mention.
“Oh my god, have you been keeping up with the new season?” Ziya asked eagerly, her eyes sparkling. “It’s gone so far off the rails, but I kind of love it even more.”
During their previous dinners, Amie had brought up Float City by casually mentioning that she was so busy with her successful job and numerous social engagements that she just hadn’t the time to start the new season yet.
This was, of course, a lie, but she definitely wasn’t going to tell Ziya that the only reason she loved Float City was because Ziya loved it, and that she couldn’t watch the show without her, and, for that matter, didn’t want to.
Amie could have still gone with the lie. But she was so thrown off by the subject coming up early that all she could muster in the moment was, “Ah … no, I haven’t. Because …”
It’s remarkable how leaving a sentence unfinished can be even more damning than finishing it with the most unbelievable lie imaginable.
Because not finishing a sentence allows the listener to fill in the blank with whatever they think the speaker wouldn’t want to say.
And as Amie watched the light in Ziya’s eyes dim, she could tell that the assumption being made wasn’t that Amie had too busy a social life to watch television.
“Right. Sorry.” Ziya looked down at her plate, and Amie’s stomach clenched.
It was downhill from there. Amie recalled their server struggling to maneuver their dinners onto the table the last two times.
On those days, she and Ziya would hurry to move their glasses out of the way, but Amie’s instinct to help overtook her internal directive to Keep Everything The Same.
As a result, she burned herself on Ziya’s plate while trying to help him set it down.
“Let me see,” Ziya said after their server left. She plucked an ice cube from her water glass as Amie rested her stinging fingers on the table between them.
“It’s fine,” Amie said as Ziya applied the ice cube to the burn. She flinched at the sudden cold, then relaxed, appreciating the relief. The stinging subsided, but the warmth remained where Ziya’s fingers were touching hers. The heat crept across her palm and up her arm—
Amie jerked her hand away, the force of her action causing Ziya’s bangles to jingle with alarm.
“Did that hurt?” Ziya asked, withdrawing the ice cube.
“No, that helped, thanks. Sorry. I just …”
Ziya once again filled in the rest of Amie’s sentence. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have—”
Amie began shaking her head. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong—”
“I know, I just … sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Amie was feeling more terrible with each passing second.
The rest of the evening was agonizing. Amie didn’t think it could get any worse until they were outside of the restaurant.
On previous days, they’d hugged goodbye—albeit a little awkwardly—and agreed to hang out again in the near future.
This time, Ziya’s arms were stuck firmly to her sides as she glanced down the street. Her thumbs were rubbing the sides of her fists, a subconscious self-soothing motion she did when she was upset.
“I think …” she started, then stopped. She was still looking away from Amie, and didn’t seem to be in any rush to look back.
This time, it was Amie’s turn to fill in the blank, and she didn’t like what she came up with. But she didn’t know how to protest without sounding pathetic, so she just said, “Yeah.”
Ziya finally looked back, smiling sadly. “Maybe we can try again in a couple months. Give it more time.”
“Yeah,” Amie repeated. Her throat had begun to feel tight, and she hoped Ziya didn’t say anything else that would require her to try to choke out more than a single-word affirmation.
They parted ways soon after that. Amie caught the bus home, where she washed her face, brushed her teeth, changed into pajamas, had a quick cry into her pillow, and fell asleep.
Day 3 I.L.
Amie stopped the alarm, eyes darting to her phone screen. Of all the mornings she would wake up in the time loop, she would rarely ever again feel such relief at seeing the date remain unchanged.