The power’s out, but its early afternoon so the sunlight filtering through the People’s entrance does a decent job of chasing the dark between the aisles in the back. I’m holding onto a basket with two loaves of bread, a couple of packets of milk and a bag of flour. I do some quick equations in my head; pick out a lotion, and reminding myself not to forget the eggs and baking powder for the mandasi the maid wants to make for tea.

I turn to go back to the front, where the eggs are. I’m still sort of looking down into my basket, and almost walk into someone. I side-step, and the pair of sneakers opposite me mirror this movement.

Great, now they think I’m an idiot, I think, looking up to apologize. Now I really feel silly, because of course it’s Aidan-Sven.

“Oh, hi.” I say, ignoring the heat seeping into my cheeks.

“Hey.”

I touch my nose self-consciously, in case it’s shiny. He smiles at me widely and the fact that was supposed to go back to discuss the books floats to the front of my mind. Dismissing it, I smile back.

“I’m sorry, I was in my own little world and didn’t see you there,” I explain.

“Yeah, I could tell.”

“Sorry,”

“It’s okay.” He wipes his brow and I notice he’s a little sweaty. I keep my eye on his face now, because if Aidan has sweat patches on his grey shirt, then he’ll ruin the whole “Sven” thing for me.

“Did you walk here?” I ask.

“Well, yes.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb, and continues a little breathlessly, “From the High School.”

“Oh,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“And why would you do that?” I ask. He chuckles. “I mean it’s not that far, but it’s summer and like thirty-something degrees out there.”

“Yeah, well I wish you’d been there to warn me,” he agrees. “I went to a brunch that a few teachers had, and it turned to lunch and now I’m walking home in thirty-degree weather in the sun. I came in here just for some water.”

I nod. “Do you want a lift home?”

“God yes. I don’t know if I’d make it now, I considered just moving into here. I owe you my life.”

I laugh and shift the basket into my other hand. His eyes follow the movement.

“Going to bake?” he asks.

I look into my basket, considering whether making mandasi is considered baking. “No… well, I mean you could call it that,” seeing him cock his head to one side curiously, I smile and say “It’s not as interesting as it sounds.”

We both smile and I shuffle forwards to walk by him; because we can’t spend 5 hours talking in an aisle in Peoples without someone taking interest.

“I’ll meet you by the till or outside,” I say.

Sounding a little like I’ve jolted him back into reality he gives a loud, “Sure!”

I find the eggs and baking powder and go to one of the two manned cash registers at the entrance. The cashier has a rather strange expression on her face.

“I’m done,” Aidan says, materialising at my side.

“Okay.” I say, focusing on my purse. The lady’s eye slide from him to me interestedly. Probably because here I am being friends with a mzungu. I mean it’s obviously not front-page-newsworthy, but it’s just interesting enough to make her as inquisitive as she is now.

I hand the cashier the money, and as she turns to the register, I wonder who she thinks she is giving me the side-eye at us like that with her Peoples cashier job and stiff helmet-wig hybrid.

“If I remember correctly,” Aidan says as the lady finds my change, “You were supposed to come over and discuss some books.”

“Yes,” I say weakly. He waits for an explanation with a smile that we both recognize as one that a person has when waiting for an impending feeble excuse. I give a little laugh, and he presses me.

“I’m waiting for your excuse.” He says.

I weigh my options, knowing I don’t actually have a solid answer to give. Finally, the lady hands back my change and I say, “I thought you had better things to do.”

We walk out, and I lead him towards the car.

“I have nothing to do except plan some lessons.”

“Exactly.”

“I think you’re a little more fun than planning lessons, Grace.”

I raise my eyebrows doubtfully at him over the roof of the car, and he shrugs earnestly. Shaking my head, I unlock the car and he slides into the passenger seat.

“I didn’t think you were serious about it anyway.” I admit, starting the car. “I thought it was just one of those things people say, like ‘let’s catch up’ but you don’t actually mean it.”

He shakes his head, but is taking a long draw on his water. Finally, he says, “No I meant it.”

All I say is “Oh.”

The situation feels a little strange to me, because I don’t know how old he thinks I am, but I feel a little young for him, however old he is. Not in a creepy way, but just sort of… in a way that makes me wonder why he’d want to hang out with me. I’m hardly successfully adulting.

After a short silence, he clears his throat. “So, you have a boyfriend?”

It’s not asked pointedly, like he’s trying to get at anything, just conversationally.

“I guess I do,” I admit.

He smiles. “That was him I saw you with the other day then.”

“Probably,” I say. “He’s a lot taller than I am.”

“That’s the one.” I glance at him. “And you are… single?”

“Yeah. I’m single. I should be mingling, shouldn’t I? That’s what single people do.”

“I believe so. Otherwise you won’t be taken seriously as a single person.”

“They’ll kick me out of Singletonia.”

“God, that’ll be the end of you.” And I turn on my indicators, I say, “Listen, I think you’re mingling with the wrong people. I’m enjoying the bliss of couple-dom.”

“No. Maybe you’ll leave Will and couple-dom and slum it with me.”

This elicits a mysterious smile in me, but only because I haven’t voiced my suspected reasons for dating Will. He takes another long draw on his water, and I indicate to turn into our street. It’s funny, but I don’t remember telling him Will’s name. Sometimes when I’m nervous I end up I speaking before I think and don’t know what I’m saying until I’ve said it. In this verbal clumsiness, Will’s name must have tumbled through somehow.

“And why would I do that?” I challenge, raising a (hopefully) smouldering eyebrow.

“Maybe you’re the love of my life,” he says, in a strange tone. My first instinct is to laugh, but halfway to a smile I falter and glance at him, for some sort of queue that he’s joking. His face is turned towards the window.

Before I can give a light “What?” and act like I misheard him over the radio, he turns back to me, with a bright smile and a rather jarring change of subject and tone.

“You’re probably busy… baking to come over then.” He says.

It’s the maid who’s supposed to make the mandasi, but I’m afraid that if I spend too much time with Aidan in one sitting, I’ll start to like him more than I should and look like an idiot when he unsurprisingly doesn’t like me back. My very knowledge of his existence threatens the delicate balance of things as they stand now, with me safely kind-of liking Will, and Will liking me.

I don’t even know that much about Aidan, but it’s clear what my mind could do to the thought of him if given a chance. He’s just the sort of guy I could predict I would end up liking on sight.

“No.” I say, surprising myself. “I can come over.”

“Brilliant. I was going to be bored out of my mind.”

“Well, have no fear, the entertainment will soon arrive!” I respond. Internally, I cringe. That sounded so stupid.

I stop outside our gate, and he climbs out of the car. “See you in five.” He says, over his shoulder.

Thinking about it as the gate crawls open and I watch him walk away, it occurs to me that maybe I could have a little fun this summer. Or at the very least, I could silently like him without saying anything compromising.

With a fresh layer of make up on my face, I head over to Aidan’s. I knock hesitantly, and the gate swings opens almost immediately, to reveal Aidan behind it.

“Hey again.”

“Hey.”

“The power’s back,” I announce, stepping into the driveway.

“Yeah I know.”

I feel my lips open to ask what he wants to do, but smile instead. Maybe it’s the way he smiles back at me, or the way this image is captured in my mind with the fence just over his shoulder, but I get the strangest sense of déjà vu. Only it feels more familiar than that; more pressing somehow, and I strain for a semblance of what I’m feeling, but can’t place it.

“You look good today,” he says casually. It’s thrown over his shoulder as we make our way towards the house.

I look up at him, feeling a little blush setting into my cheeks. “Thanks,” I manage. I’m just wearing flip-flops, a thin black cotton dress with a sweet-heart neckline, thin straps and small pink roses printed on it.

“I got a haircut,” he tells me. “My first Malawian haircut,”

“No, yeah, you look good,”

“You didn’t notice a thing until I told you!” he accuses, opening the front door for me. My admission comes in the form of a guilty laugh.

“Well now that I’ve noticed, it really does look good.”

“Okay.” He gives me a doubtful look but adds, “It was only a trim, to be fair.”

We walk into the kitchen and he asks what I want to drink. I ask for water and watch him pour us both tall glasses of ice-cold water.

“You want to sit outside and listen to some music?” he asks. I tilt my head to one side, getting that sense of déjà vu again.

“Okay,” I assent. he leads us outside. In the time that has passed, the grass has greened considerably, and the garden looks more maintained.

We sit in the swing over the fishpond, leaving the cushion between our seats. We sip our water silently for a few minutes, and he scrolls through his phone and picks a quiet song with familiar chords. I feel him looking at me a couple of times, but keep my eyes down.

“Have you ever met someone and you just wanted to skip the awkward getting-to-know-you phase?” he asks finally.

“Yeah,” I say, putting my water down on the grass. I look properly at him now, and that familiarity comes back with a vengeance. “I guess we could pretend.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes the getting to know you bit is the best part,”

“I think someone I know once said that.” He gives me strange look, at this, but turns away when I say “I don’t remember who though.”

After a moments silence I notice the song playing and smile. “Did you steal a look at my phone or something?”

“What?” He says.

“The music… I think I have exactly the same songs.”

He laughs.

“If this playlist is called ‘slow dance/romance’ then I’m calling the police.”

“It’s called ‘playlist 1’.” He says, handing me the phone. “See for yourself if you don’t believe me. – And I know you don’t.”

Scrolling through the playlist, (truly titled ‘playlist 1’) it still strikes me that the songs are all the ones on my playlist, with a few additional ones. I hand his phone back. “It’s just weird that we have the same sort of playlist.”

“I guess we’re more alike than we know.”

“Yeah,” I shrug.

“‘Slow dance/romance’?” he prompts. “Are you going to explain that or…?” he trails off suggestively.

I roll my eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“I won’t laugh,” he promises.

As I explain, I feel myself cringe. “I made this playlist late at night and it was probably that time of the month so I was highly emotional.”

“Okay,” Aidan says, with an easy laugh. “But what’s the reason?”

“I just thought that if I was ever to slow dance, those are the songs I’d to play. Or maybe at my wedding or something - It’s pretty corny.”

“Well I’m not going to fight you on that,” he agrees. “But we’re all a little corny on the inside.”

“And who actually slow dances anyway? This isn’t a Julia Roberts movie.”

“Do you want to dance?” he asks.

“No.” I say quickly. I think he’s only poking fun at me, so I stare down at my clasped hands and wish I hadn’t said anything.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I laugh a little forcefully. Not wanting him to push the joke even further, I stand and walk out to the pond to look down at the little silver fish. When they swim out to the sunny end of the pond they glint like tiny diamonds in the sunlight. Aidan trails after me momentarily. I glance at him, and his face is as open and honest as the centre of my palm.

“I read somewhere that in the movies they dance to create a little tension between characters.”

“Is that why you think I asked you?”

“Well I don’t know.” I say. He laughs and smiling, I add, “Maybe it is.”

I slip my left foot out of my flip-flip and dip it down into the cool water, holding out my hand for balance. Aidan’s warm hand closes around mine unexpectedly.

I don’t look up for a moment, but when I do, he’s still looking at the fish, almost like it was a reflex action. I’m sure now that something’s going on, and I don’t mean in the romantic sense (although that shouldn’t be ruled out because the man could very well be the sex of my life) but in a sort of ethereal sense I can’t quite put my finger on. And yet, I don’t let go of his hand.

Simultaneously, I get the overwhelming sense that this should not be happening – me holding Aidan’s hand or being here in his garden or whatever it is, but also that I’ll regret it if I leave. Maybe this is what a premonition feels like.

“Maybe I should go.” I say, suddenly afraid.

“Why?” he asks.

It’s a simple question, but it jumpstarts the rational part of my brain.

“I don’t know.” I admit. “I just felt weird for a minute.”

He takes a step back, and after a moment, I do too. He slowly spins me under his arm and as I’m coming out, he says “There. You danced.”

As I laugh, he pulls me towards him, and after hesitating, I comply. There’s a moment where I’m looking at him close up. His two front teeth are slightly longer than the others, and I picture him biting my lip with them as we kiss. The smile fades from my face. For the longest few seconds, he’s just looking at me too.

“What if I kissed you?” he asks quietly. There’s a smile in his voice,

I should push him away. I don’t know him from Adam. I don’t find myself in situations like this either.

I have a boyfriend, I remember.

My mouth opens, and it’s almost like I’m reading words off of a script I’ve never seen. I am impulsive, I think. I am brave and impulsive. Out loud, I hear myself ask, “What do you think it’d be like?”

He shrugs.

“This feels strange,” I say.

“I know.” It comes reassuringly, like he knows why.

When he’s sure I’m not going to pull away, he inches forward the slightest bit. I become still, afraid it’s some sort of spell and that I’ll break it the moment I move to reciprocate.

The words come to me unbidden, but eerily encouraging. I repeat my new mantra, stressing the last word.

I am impulsive.

After a moment’s thought I add, I could kiss a stranger if I wanted to.

As the gap between us closes, I catch him hesitate. And then… well, he kisses me.

I don’t hear fireworks. I picture them though, because it matches how it feels inside - kissing this stranger for reasons I cannot begin to fathom. It’s feels scary but exhilarating, and surprisingly… balanced. Like the most natural thing in the world.

Did we even have a palpable tension? I think.

He pulls away before I can answer myself, a small, nervous smile on his face.

“Are you going to kiss me back?” he murmurs. I guess I was a little too intent on not breaking the spell.

“I’m still deciding,” I say. His smile widens, and after a moment’s hesitation, he closes the gap between us again.

This time when his lips brush mine, I touch his cheek gently. I ignore my heart as it beats in my throat, and become surer of myself; pulling him closer to kiss him back.

A soft wind whistles past. I smell something wild, dry and warm, like the first breeze of summertime. Almost as soon as I pick it up, it’s gone.

We kiss lightly for a few minutes; lips warm and finding each other a little clumsily in that way they seem to do when you first kiss someone. When I breathe in it’s the pocket of sweet, heavy air that he’s breathing out that presses me forward somehow, eager for more of this… whatever it is that s happening.

Our lips, meeting with a growing familiarity, begin to press together greedily now. Mine part and I let the tip of my tongue dart out, and tickle his lips. Reciprocating this, Aidan places his hands on my waist and squeezes gently as he pulls me even closer towards him, right up against his body.

Gently, he tugs at my bottom lip with his teeth. This elicits an involuntary moan from me, and when I hear myself, I start pulling away, albeit reluctantly, to try and collect myself.

“Does it always feel like that?” I ask, echoing Maddy’s words from Everything, Everything. I attempt a flustered explanation. “When you go around kissing strangers-?”

“It always does with you.” he says, and his lips meet mine again. I don’t stop to ask what he means.

Maybe he knew me in another life or something.