I go to the gym around six in the morning a couple of days a week. It’s quiet in there. No music, barely any conversation. Apparently, everyone has agreed that being awake is enough participation.
There’s a guy I keep making eye contact with. Lately, he seems to be working out closer to me, although I recognize that gym equipment has locations and other people are allowed to use it.
Whenever he looks at me, I tend to look away. This has been my main contribution to our developing connection: making myself difficult to identify as interested.
I didn’t want to walk up to him while we were both exercising and still a little sleepy. The gym doesn’t have much of a social atmosphere at the best of times, and six in the morning hardly feels like the hour to introduce a surprise conversation.
I tried catching him on his way out instead. Unfortunately, our departure times have shown no interest in cooperating.
Eventually, I wrote my number on a piece of paper, added “text me if you’re single,” and signed my name. Direct, brief, with a useful eligibility requirement. I wanted to hand it to him myself.
This morning, I couldn’t find him before I left.
What I did have was a reasonably confident idea of which car belonged to him. I’d seen him get into one and drive away on another morning. That seemed like evidence at the time. It feels slightly less conclusive now that my phone number is involved.
I left the note on the car.
I’m 25, and I’m now wondering whether this was a sweet little attempt at making the first move or the sort of thing that makes someone reconsider their parking arrangements. I know plenty of women would feel uneasy finding a stranger’s number on their car. I can’t assume he’ll welcome it because he’s a guy.
There’s also the question of whether I should expect a text. He might be taken. He might not be interested. He might never have received it.
Somewhere, there is a car with my number on it. I would feel considerably better if I were certain whose.
