Page 31 of Love and Other Paradoxes

“Oh,” he said heavily.

Her expression was pained. “Please tell me this isn’t about Diana.”

“Who else would it be about?”

“I don’t understand,” she said in frustration. “I got you through the hard bit, which was making her ever want to see you again. Now you’re seeing her weekly. What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” he said, feeling ungrateful. “She’s just—she’s really different from any girl I’ve been with before. Any girl I’ve even been interested in.”

She gave him anobviouslylook. “She’s the love of your life. Sheshouldbe different, right?”

“I guess. It’s just that spending time with her, it’s not really...” He searched for a word to describe the antithesis of the constant stress of being with Diana. “...Fun.”

“Maybe you just need to relax. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”

“How can I not put pressure on myself? She’s my one and only! My soul’s destination!” He tore at his hair. “See, I think it’s the opposite. I need to work harder. Treat it like revision. Note down her best attributes on index cards and memorise them. Write timed essays in praise of her beauty—”

She halted, turning to face him. “With all due respect, Joseph Greene, stop your nonsense.”

He blinked. “That’s not very respectful.”

“It feels weird with Diana because your first meeting got messed up. If you’d met like you were supposed to, you wouldn’t be overthinking it like this. You’d just be enjoying yourself. Like a normal person.” She indicated theNew Hallsign on the corner. “In there?” He nodded. She marched into the Porters’ Lodge, humming the soft, repetitive tune she always hummed when she was anxious. She scanned the names, searching theEs, then shook her head. As they left, she glanced back over her shoulder, as if her mum might appear the second she stopped paying attention. The fleeting, instinctive movement broke his heart.

“All right, then,” he said, trying to distract her as they continued up the road towards Fitzwilliam. “How do you think we were supposed to meet? In this hypothetical world where our first meeting gotmessed up. We don’t have any friends in common. We’re not on the same course. We’re not at the same college. Our paths would never have crossed if it wasn’t for the book.”

A dimple appeared in her cheek. Some part of her was enjoying the argument. “What about this poetry thing you’re doing? You would’ve met then.”

He hadn’t told her the poem he’d submitted had been from the future. And he probably shouldn’t. “Thatishow we met, if you don’t count the train incident. And it’s not exactly been romantic so far. She’s spent most of her time correcting my posture.”

She laughed. “Then maybe you were supposed to have a classic meet-cute.” Her face went dreamy. “Like, you were in a coffee shop and she bumped into you, and you spilled your coffee all down her, and she laughed, and you helped her clean it up, and you got to talking...”

“I don’t think she would have laughed,” he cut in. “Her clothes look really expensive.”

“Then maybe she spilled her coffee down you.” She eyed his current jumper, which featured a friendly badger. “Would have done you a favour.”

He shook his head, repressing a smile. “I still don’t get it. What’s so romantic about a coffee shop?”

“It’s not about the coffee shop.” She stopped, arguing with herself. “Or—I guess it is. It’s a place where people’s paths can cross. People who wouldn’t have met anywhere else.”

“Like you and me,” he said. “We met in a coffee shop.”

Her eyes widened.Uh-oh, he thought. He’d been so caught up in the flow of their conversation, the teasing give-and-take he’d get into with any girl he liked, that he’d forgotten who he was talking to—or rather, who he wasn’t. She looked flustered, then annoyed. “Don’t ask for my advice if you’re not going to take me seriously.” She marched ahead of him into the Porters’ Lodge of Fitzwilliam. By the time he got to the entrance, she was already coming out, shaking her head. “You said there’s one more?”

“Aye. Just down the road.” They walked on, her silence tingling in the air like a thunderstorm. Before he could work out how to apologise, they had reached the blocky mass of Churchill.

She walked up to the pigeonholes, checked theEs, and turned away. He followed her back outside. She stood on the edge of the steps, hugging herself against the wind. “I knew it. I knew Diana was lying.”

He didn’t think that was fair. “Come on. Why would she lie? She probably just remembered wrong.”

“Oh, so now you’re defending her?” she snapped. “I thought you didn’t even like her.”

He stepped back. “Jesus. Was it something I said?”

She laughed bitterly. “Something you said? Oh, no. It’s beendeev, hearing you complain for half an hour about how the future love of your life is not your type.”

He was wrongfooted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“You know how important this is, for both of us. Literally your only job is to let your destiny happen.”

---