It's 10 pm and I'm sitting in an empty room full of desks and chairs and not so much me. A blackboard and molecular models.

I went out for tea with my boyfriend, him with some kind of cold, me with messed up face. "We are not very attractive people this week," I said. We talk. He's got a secret almost kind of offer on the table to do exactly what he wants, he found out about it yesterday, almost two years in advance. His eyebrows move up and down as we discuss the next step.

I like how he's not like me, that he's very planned and deliberate, that his sense of style and his house are so purposed. That I'm teaching him to cook, that we read the same weekend newspaper but opposite sections.