The symposium ended, the rustle of papers and the murmur of departing academics filling the auditorium. I remained in my seat for a moment, watching the empty stage where he had stood, the ghost of his intense, conflicted gaze imprinted on my vision.
My phone buzzed multiple times and I know perfectly who that is.
Apple: WELL?????? I've been staring at my phone like a Victorian orphan waiting for news from the front lines. Did you survive? Do I need to mobilize? Jessica is getting restless.
I smiled and typed back.
Me: All went well. No incidents. No running. No restraining orders. I'd call it a success.
Apple: SUCCESS. She says SUCCESS. G, that's the bare minimum. That's like saying "I went to the grocery store and didn't get into a fistfight over the last avocado." I need DETAILS. Did he see you? Did you see him? Did you shine your girl confident power at him?
Me: He saw me. We spoke. Briefly. It was... civil.
Apple: CIVIL. CIVIL. You're killing me. Civil is what you are to your landlord. Civil is what you are to the barista who spells your name wrong. Civil is NOT what you should be with a man who made you forget how to exist. What about your girl confident power? Did you unleash it? Did you stand up straight and look at him like you knew something he didn't?
I laughed quietly, drawing a curious glance from a passing academic.
Me: I shone it. I shone it so hard. He was appropriately affected. Or at least confused. Which, with him, is basically the same thing.
Apple: CONFUSED. Good. Confused is the first step. Confused leads to questioning. Questioning leads to obsession. Obsession leads to late-night texting and "accidentally" showing up where you are. I've seen this play out, G. I've watched enough romantic comedies to know the formula.
Me: This isn't a romantic comedy.
Apple: ALL OF LIFE IS A ROMANTIC COMEDY, G. You're just too busy being YOU to realize you're the leading lady. The only question is whether he's the love interest or the villain, and I'm keeping Jessica warm either way.
Me: How is Jessica?
Apple: She's good. Solid. Ready for action but patient. She believes in you. We both do. Now go—enjoy the rest of your water party or whatever. Mingle. Eat tiny sandwiches. Let him watch you from across the room and wonder why his insides feel like a washing machine on spin cycle. And remember—I'm here if you need me. One buzz for "I'm fine." Two buzzes for "he's being a scumbag." Three buzzes for "bring Jessica and also maybe a getaway car."
Me: Noted. Love you, App.
Apple: Love you too, weirdo. Now go be devastating BEAUTIFUL. Make him regret every life choice that led him to this moment. I'll be here, monitoring from afar and eating cheese straight from the block in your honour.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, Apple's warmth lingering like a small sun in my chest.
I avoided him for the rest of the event. I made a point of being seen engaged in earnest conversation with my thesis advisor, laughing politely at a joke from a visiting botanist, fully embodying the role of the dedicated, slightly quirky student. I was building a credible persona, a fortress of normalcy from which to launch my next assault on the walls of his memory.
As I walked back to my apartment through the crisp evening air, my mind was a whirlwind of strategy and memory. His reaction to the mention of the Linchpin King had been more than just annoyance; it had been visceral, a somatic response to a psychic wound he didn't understand. His body remembered what his mind refused to.
The seed was planted. Now I had to tend it, to ensure it didn't wither in the cold soil of his modern skepticism.