When lunchtime came, I headed to Tim Hortons.
Maybe he was already there.
I walked a little faster than usual.
He was already sitting by the window.
When he spotted me, he waved.
"Hey."
"Hi."
I sat across from him.
An awkward silence settled between us.
We just smiled at each other.
He spoke first.
"So... I'm Ben."
"I'm Youjung."
"Cool name."
"Thanks."
Once we knew each other's names, things felt a little less awkward.
I asked what I'd been curious about.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, go for it."
"Are you Japanese?"
He burst out laughing.
"Hahahah."
"I'm Taiwanese."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Everyone thinks I'm Japanese though."
"Probably 'cause I'm always hanging out with those guys."
My face turned red for no reason.
"Sorry."
"No, don't worry about it. Happens all the time."
He said it with a laugh.
"So... how's Vancouver treating you?"
I glanced out the window.
"It's nice. But everybody speaks too fast."
He nodded.
"Yeah, I feel you. I've moved around a lot. Every place felt kinda weird at first."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I've lived in like... a bunch of different countries. So I'm pretty used to being the new kid, you know?"
For some reason, his words stayed with me.
So I wasn't the only one who felt out of place.
I wasn't the only one who felt clumsy.
We kept talking about this and that over coffee.
School.
Family.
Canadian weather.
And Korea.
Time passed faster than I expected.
"Oh shoot."
He said it while checking his watch.
"I gotta head back."
"Me too."
We got up together.
When we stepped outside, the cold winter air brushed against our faces.
He naturally walked me toward my language school.
Was that just good manners—walking me back without even asking?
We were about to part ways at the entrance when he said,
"Hey, you got a phone?"
"Yeah."
"Lemme get your number."
I pulled my hot-pink Motorola RAZR out of my bag.
He took a small Nokia phone out of his pocket.
We saved each other's numbers.
"Alright. Catch you later, Youjung."
"See you."
On the way back to the language school, I could feel how considerate he was of my awkward English.
My English had been so ridiculous that I was embarrassed, imagining myself kicking the blankets at night over it.
And yet, somehow.
I couldn't stop smiling.