It could start here.

He sat there, writing and scribbling, and ran his hands through his curly brown hair. She noticed him from across the library. She had often daydreamed about dating a writer; perhaps now was her chance. His eyes were so blue you’d think they were reflecting the sky on a cloudless June afternoon. Do people fall in love at first sight? Maybe.

Although they knew nothing of each other, they shared similarities. Both had been heartbroken by someone confusing. Both had been kept down and prevented from flourishing by someone who just was not the right fit. He had had friends with benefits in the past; so had she. And similarly, both were tentative. Afraid to get their feet wet. Both had decided not to do anything at all with the opposite sex, perhaps to admire from afar. They both had enjoyed being intimate with a friend, but it was limited in physicality. Emotional intimacy was a dangerous game. It was better to stay quiet - better to do nothing at all.

Is this what modern romance had become? Two people so afraid to be hurt that they abandon trying altogether? Most single millennials declare they will settle down eventually - when they’re not so busy, when they’re not so confused, when it’s less scary to ask someone to dinner, when perhaps someone special comes along in some distant future. Maybe they will, but maybe they won’t. If humans are creatures of habit, maybe again they’ll get close but not close enough. Maybe they’ll get close enough to kiss, close enough to enjoy that brief infatuation that comes with hooking up with someone, but not to pursue anything else - that’s just what comes with the territory. You could have physical intimacy, but not emotional intimacy. No late night conversations. No “getting to know each other.” Physicality until it was exhausted, or perhaps circumstances no longer permitted it, and then it would end until you found yourself in the same boat but with another person.

Hooking up is fun; she would not deny that and neither would he. She often daydreamed of a brown-eyed summertime friend. Maybe someone like that had crossed this writer’s mind from time to time, too. Did she want to hook up with him? Maybe. Did he with her? Perhaps. He had noticed she was cute. Although her mind was often humming with the thought of her summertime secret, a filmmaker from the west coast, she entertained the possibility of getting to know the writer across the room. She flirted with the idea of having conversations late at night and picking the writer’s mind.

Nothing was stopping her from introducing herself to him. She could ask him his favorite band and she could try to impress him with hers. They could grab a coffee and talk about their favorite movies, their favorite music - hell - anything. What it was like to be shy and soft-spoken, but to have no stage fright. What it was like to be awkward, but to strive to interact with others free of anxiety. What it was like to be creative, but feel uninspired. To feel stuck. What could happen? Only time would tell. It was up to her to decide how to proceed - and then infinite timelines would emerge. In another universe, he looks up just in time to catch her glance. In plenty of alternate realities, they feel comfortable enough to introduce themselves and chat. And at in at least one universe, they decide to get coffee together and browse a nearby record store.

Both debated approaching the other, in tune to the same inner dialogue. She promised herself she would say something to him if she were to bump into him again. Unknown to her, he told himself the same. She decided not to say anything and walked away. They would never discover their mutual affinity for astronomy and a fear of being insignificant. They’d never laugh over secretly adoring the Wu Tang Clan. They would never engage in the depth that comes with late-night conversation, topics ranging from sex to existential reflection.