Goodness, did you know how happy I was when I saw that you were online when I awoke because of annoying mosquito bites?
“Need enlightenment,” your status message said. So I pretended to bring along a flashlight and said hi, casually.
I found out that you’re nearly there; just a few months and you’ll be a Bachelor of Economy. I was happy to know that you can fulfill your target of finishing your thesis by this February, your twenty-first birth month; I even typed “I want to give you a handshake or a hug or whatever—but we’re in different cities, so sadly, I cannot do that.” I suggested some silly ideas at you and you just shrugged them off—I can imagine you smiling while doing that—like usual. I felt a fuzzly warm feeling bubbling inside me.
And then you said you have a target of marrying at 23 or 24 years old. I smiled—sadly, knowing that the lucky woman might not be me—and told you to look for a wife-to-be already. You didn’t respond to my half-joking, half-hoping outburst.
Some idle chatters later, you asked me if I’m 19. I stalled, “… Really?” and then, “Oh, I am. I feel old!” because, you know, today is my birthday. Apparently you didn’t remember (yet?), because the next thing you said had no connection to a birthday greeting whatsoever.
“Marry by 21? Hahahaha.”
“Not sure,” I said, “I personally don’t have any target of that kind.”
“I see,” you said, without any emoticons and punctuation marks. And then you diverted—no, that is an understatement—changed the topic, and went offline three minutes later.
Meanwhile, my brain worked its gears by the time you went offline.
Point one: You said you want to marry by 23 or 24; that’s two years from now.
Point two: You asked me if I want to marry by 21 years old; that’s also two years from now. … Wait. After I think about it, you were asking me if I intend to marry two years from now, that is, when I’m 21 years old. (If it was the first, you won’t ask about my current age before half-asking, half-stating I’m marrying at 21.)
Point three: You didn’t make any remarks, least of all smart remarks when I told you to go find a wife-to-be. Means, you don’t have anything to say to me about that. (For now.)
Point four: You showed (some kind of) disappointment (if I didn’t misinterpret) when I said I had no target age of marrying whatsoever, and diverted the topic into “I don’t believe you accidentally woke up”—which strayed too damn much from the previous topic.
With all of the data on your personality and traits that I have on me, my brain processed all of the points above and I reached a temporary conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless:
“What, you want to marry me? Two years from now?”
Two. Damn. Years.
Oh, God.
That means you’re going to make a move on the lucky woman soon.
And… I was left hoping I didn’t over-analyze that.
… Damn you, Schrödinger’s Cat.
