How do you express love to your other half?
Last night, I discussed this with my friend. Naturally, different people have different answers. Some express love with deep kisses; others, through the solemn vows of marriage; for a few, love is spoken in the language of money, and for my friend and his girlfriend, they find its truest expression in a simple hug.
“Hug hug,” she would often utter softly, and he would extend his arms, gently pull her in, and hold her close.”
“It’s our unspoken understanding,” he said. “Be it happy or sad, sweet or bitter, hug hug.”
This understanding goes back to our middle school days.
My friend and I were classmates. He came from a well-off family, never needed to worry about any necessities. From a young age, his parents were already determined to send him abroad for further studies, so he knew he would leave Hong Kong after middle school. But love often arrives at the most inconvenient times. In his final year, he and the class president started their sweet romance.
Back then, there were only a few places we students could date. Our school was in Sha Tin. The place where we could spend the least yet sit the longest was the bustling international fast-food restaurant in New Town Plaza, McDonald’s. With the Certificate Examination looming, my friend and his beloved often studied there. Tucked in a corner, weary, they would hug briefly, and shyly.
He still remembers that feeling: The boiling noise of the crowd created an island of solitude around them. His cheek resting gently against the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo, like arrows, piercing through the smell of fries. Her body, soft and tender in his arms. He could feel a heart pounding against his chest, though he couldn’t tell whether it was his or hers.
A kiss, lingering with the aftertaste of soda, like eating cola-flavoured gummies.
They spent many days and nights in that fast-food restaurant.
That’s where they broke up too.
“I want to marry you,” she said that day.
He held her close.
“But people say long-distance relationships don’t last,” she added.
He gently countered, “Don’t lump us with ‘people’. We are not like ‘them’.”
Yet, she pushed him away, gazing into his eyes intently. “What makes us different from everyone else? I’m about to enter university, meet new friends. You’re off to America, to see a broader world. We’ll both start new lives, just like everyone else. How can you prove we’ll still be together in ten years?”
“Can’t I prove how much I like you?” He said, a response that my friend now considers embarrassingly naive.
She was far more mature. “I know we like each other, but feelings are unpredictable. There are too many long-distance breakups and too few successes. Do you think those couples didn’t deeply love each other at the start? And you don’t even know how long you’ll be away – at least four years, right?”
“Nobody can predict the future,” he said, almost resigning.
“But we can prepare for it,” she replied. “So, let’s break up.”
Ten years. Her logic was to let go now rather than cling to something forced. Better to save and close the file at the peak of emotions, than to wear it out and regret it later. If they could still load that save in ten years, it was meant to be. If not, so be it.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asked. “I want to marry you. That desire is even stronger than my wish to be in a relationship with you. I’d rather marry you in ten years than see our relationship end in three.”
He wanted to protest, but she silenced him with a hug and a kiss. They made a pact: to meet again in the same place on November 9, 2015, at 10:03 PM.
“If we still want to marry each other then, we’ll get married.” she proposed. All he could do was nod.
In those ten years, their pact remained silent, while life continued its relentless march. My friend transformed from a university freshman to a partner in an international accounting firm. He lived a structured, orderly life in downtown New York. He jogged before work. Most of the time, he went straight home from his office, or occasionally had a couple of drinks with friends, never too many. Life treated him well, and he treated it well in return. His subordinates adored him, his boss valued him. Of course, there were torments like overtime without compensation, cleaning up someone else’s mess, unreasonable client complaints. But everyone has a bad day; it was nothing too serious.
He had a girlfriend. A charming Korean woman, who looked like a member of Girls’ Generation. They had been dating for two years. She was cheerful, though sometimes afflicted with princess syndrome, but generally quite pleasant.
As for her, the one from his past, they hadn’t spoken in nine years. Initially, despite the distance, they frequently called each other. He still called her his “little fool.” She would tell him about her new life at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. But the phone could only convey so much. Sometimes he wondered: did she still suffer from skin allergy? Had she changed her shampoo? Gained weight? How was her mood? A hug would have told him all he needed to know. But they couldn’t hug. “I miss you,” one would say. “Me too,” the other would respond. “Wish I could hug you.” “Yeah.” “Sure…” The same conversation, repeated and dwindling, until one day, he stopped calling, and she didn’t ask why. That was the end of their romance.
But the date of November 9, 2015, was etched in his mind like an inscription on a tombstone. With only three days left until the promised day, he had to make a decision.
Practically, he had already made it. My friend hadn’t bought a plane ticket. It seemed a wise choice. After all, flying from New York to Hong Kong for this seemed absurd. He was in the final stages of a major client project. His girlfriend’s birthday party was the next day. A headhunting firm had arranged a dinner with a bank CEO for the day after. He thought about his good life, his lovely girlfriend. Surely, she too must have a good life, a good boyfriend, or perhaps, more likely, she was already married. Since he knew her, she had always looked forward to her marriage. In a year, she would be thirty.
Yet, he went. “Sometimes, the body acts on its own accord,” he said. He told his boss he had a family emergency back home. His boss complained about having to cover for him. He bought a last-minute ticket, exorbitantly priced, as if to Mars. He concocted a story for his girlfriend about an urgent summons from his mother, his voice trembling, breaking into a cold sweat.
“Why am I afraid? Is this cheating?” he asked himself. No, it was not cheating, just a meeting. A fulfilment of a pact. Meeting her didn’t necessarily mean stirring old emotions. Besides, it was all uncertain. Maybe she wouldn’t come, or perhaps she’d show up with a family. “Look, that’s mommy’s old classmate!” His imagination startled him with such vivid scenarios. After all, the meeting place is a family restaurant.
The plane was scheduled to arrive in Hong Kong at 8 AM on November 9. My friend planned to go home, rest, and then meet her. But a last-minute delay of 12 hours meant he might not make it. He sighed, thinking it was fate. A wasted trip, but at least he could visit his mother. He told himself that maybe not seeing her was for the best. Let the beautiful memories stay just that.
But upon landing at Hong Kong International Airport, his body defied him again. With no checked luggage, he dashed to the taxi stand, bumping into several people who glared at him in disgust. He cut in line. “Sorry, I’m in a rush!” He jumped into a taxi. “To New Town Plaza in Sha Tin, please!” He glanced at his watch: 8:45 AM. “How long will it take?” he asked the driver. “Without traffic, half an hour.” “And with traffic?” “Then it’s fate playing tricks,” the driver joked.
Yes, if it’s fate, then let it be, he told himself.
But when they actually hit traffic, he grew anxious. “Can’t you do something, please?”
“Don’t worry, man overcomes fate,” the driver said. He changed course and dropped my friend off at Mong Kok East, so that he could take a train to Sha Tin. He sprinted up the escalator. It was 10 PM, three minutes to the appointed time.
At this point, my friend slowed his speech, looked at me, and took a sip of his drink. “Is it man who overcomes fate, or is it fate that toys with us?” he asked me, or himself. “I never dreamed that keeping the promise wasn’t about whether I went or she came, but the place of our promise.”
New Town Plaza was completely different from what it was like ten years ago. The stationery shop and home centre he used to frequent were no longer there, replaced by stores of luxury brands. He felt so disoriented that he wondered if he was in the right place. “Where’s the McDonald’s gone?” he thought to himself, his heart raced from running. “It was supposed to be right up that escalator!” He aimlessly wandered around the almost closing mall, desperately searching for the place of promise, but found nothing. He grabbed a security guard, asking about the restaurant.
“That place closed down six months ago, didn’t you see the news? Are you even a Hongkonger?” the guard said.
He breathed deeply, slowly closing his eyes.
Only then did he admit to himself, “I wanted so much to see her.” He yearned to hug her again, to hold her so tightly it hurt, so tightly his heart could barely beat. To say it didn’t matter if they didn’t meet was a lie he told himself. It mattered immensely. He couldn’t believe he had waited ten years, only for his hope to shatter in such a way.
“Hey.” A clear voice called out.
He looked up, his face frozen in shock.
“What a sight, a silly man running around the mall at night, haha.”
He pulled her into his arms in one swift motion. And there she was again, like a bundle of cotton in a school uniform. The same warmth, the same scent, the same heartbeat. Her head brushed against his cheek. The security guard watched with interest, but for him, the world contained only the two of them.
Three seconds later, she too reached out, gently embracing his waist.