Two Opposites, One Name

Downtown Beirut, Lebanon

Previously:

Joseph and April visited Al Raji, whose small, tucked-away room felt worlds apart from the busy alley outside. As soon as they stepped inside, the air seemed to shift. After serving them rich Arabic coffee, Al Raji offered to read April’s future from the grounds left in her cup. At first, the reading was vague, mentioning distant journeys and love, but soon Al Raji’s tone became more serious, speaking of deep love, loss, and a heavy burden April would carry. Though April felt skeptical, the words lingered with her, settling in the back of her mind.

Years later, most of those predictions began to come true— April and Joseph were married at Snoqualmie Falls, just as Al Raji had foretold. While the prophecy faded into the rhythm of their daily life, it resurfaced from time to time, reminding April that life’s biggest moments often unfold in small, subtle ways. As they left that night, April couldn’t shake the feeling that Al Raji’s words were only the beginning of a much larger story yet to be revealed.

Al Raji’s words still echoed in my mind, sharp and relentless like the clanging of a cowbell, breaking through the haze of exhaustion. My eyes refused to open, weighted by a fatigue that ran deep into my bones. A dull ache spread through my limbs, making any attempt to rise futile. I turned over, again and again, seeking comfort that sleep wouldn’t grant me, yet the moonlight pulled at me, insisting I notice the world beyond my restless thoughts.

The moon streamed through the cracked window, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. It caught the chipped paint on the walls, where blues mingled with crumbling edges, transforming decay into something beautiful. This wasn’t a curated imperfection, not the kind sought by designers trying to capture old-world charm—it was real. It was the authentic wear of time and weather, a beauty forged by years of exposure, much like the lives lived within these walls.

As I lay there, tracing the cracks and chips in the corner, I began to wonder how long Isabelle and Rafik had lived in this space. Had their parents stood in this very room, gazing at the same decaying beauty, torn from their homes at gunpoint in the south and forced to seek refuge in this camp? Did they dream of escape, of one day returning to their rightful home? Or had they resigned themselves to this as their forever place? The thought hung heavy, like the thick air around me, as I drifted between consciousness and the pull of sleep. In between these drifting thoughts, I found myself slipping in and out of a half-dream, caught between worlds.

As I sank deeper into the comfort of my bed, something about the texture of the wall struck a chord within me. A flash of memory—a scene from somewhere else, a place I had been. But where? It was as if I was on the brink of recalling something important, something long forgotten. A presque vu moment—so close, yet just out of reach.

Then, like a flash, it hit me: Kentucky. The bathroom in that manor, where the blue patina on the walls cracked and peeled with the same worn elegance surrounding me now. I had been so nervous that day, anxiously looking in the mirror, washing my hands—the scent of old wood and lavender soap mingling in the air. The walls there, carefully distressed to achieve a rustic charm, had mirrored the very effect I was staring at. Only here, in this refugee camp, did I finally understand the connection.

Was it time that created these parallels, or something deeper? Something intangible that tied the moments of our lives together—the rooms we pass through, the memories we carry within us, the echoes of past and present colliding in unexpected ways. The thought danced in my mind, teasing me with its significance, before slowly fading away as sleep reclaimed me once more.

And then, I was there—sitting at the grand dining table, the scene before me like a painting pulled from another era. The table stretched on endlessly, disappearing into the horizon, laden with the bounty of a Southern feast. Golden fried chicken glistened under the soft candlelight, mounds of mashed potatoes drowned in rich, savory gravy, and every fried vegetable imaginable was arranged in meticulous abundance. Cornbread, crisp on the edges and drizzled with honey, sat in a basket, while pitchers of sweet tea lined the table like watchful sentinels.

The air, thick with humidity, clung to my skin, making each breath feel like a slow pull through molasses. Outside, the distant hum of cicadas filled the heavy silence, their chorus a constant reminder of the deep Southern night. The scent of magnolias floated in through the open windows, mingling with the rich aromas of the feast, creating a scene that felt timeless. The traditions of the South, steeped in history, lay thick on that table, much like the sweat on my brow.

I could feel the weight of generations in that room, just as I had felt it in the crumbling walls of Isabelle and Rafik’s home. Two worlds, so different yet somehow entwined, connected through the passage of time, shared moments echoing across continents and cultures. As I sat there, overwhelmed by the strange, almost dreamlike familiarity of it all, I realized that some places—some memories—never truly leave us. They linger, waiting to resurface when we least expect it.

I had never thought of myself as unsophisticated. My parents were both solidly upper middle class, yet sitting at that table, surrounded by the quiet affluence woven into every gesture, I felt a wave of abashment wash over me, sinking me deeper into my seat. This wasn’t just about money—it was about legacy, about a world where status wasn’t earned but inherited, passed down like the land itself. Martin Eden, my favorite book, wasn’t just a story anymore—I was living it. Like Martin, I was an outsider looking in, standing on the edge of a world I didn’t belong to, trying to navigate a life that felt just out of reach.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the fork, hesitating over which one was meant for the second salad. I could feel the weight of every glance, each silent judgment, though no one said a word. The pressure was suffocating. My breath caught when a woman, older, with skin as dark as midnight and hair streaked with silver, approached. Dressed crisply in the black-and-white uniform she moved with a silent authority that commanded the room. She had known this family for ages.

The room seemed to still as she reached me, her eyes hollow with a story older than time. “Ma’am,” she said softly, bowing her head as she poured water into my glass. Her posture spoke of years—no, generations—of servitude, carrying the weight of a history I could never comprehend. I thanked her, my voice wavering, barely above a whisper. She smiled faintly, but it wasn’t joy that caused her lips to lift. It was duty, a ghostly shadow of a smile that felt as heavy as the room itself, in stark contrast to the effortless grace with which everyone else inhabited this world. 

This was not my world.

Across the table sat Joseph—the other Joseph. Not the Palestinian Joseph, whose eyes carried the weight of his lands torn apart, but the Joseph with fire-red hair and freckled skin, who could have been Eddie Redmayne’s twin. His smile was both proud and kind, dripping with a privilege so vast it could swallow Kentucky whole. He leaned back in his chair, his posture effortless, as if the weight of all that money and land was as light as a feather to him. 

"Joseph," his mother chirped from the far end of the table, her voice filled with Southern charm. "Why don’t you serve your sweetheart a slice of Memaw’s Key lime pie? It’s been your favorite since you were just a boy."  

I tensed at the sound of the name, struck by the unsettling disconnect between this place and the world I knew—where history hadn’t twisted into some grotesque parody of itself. Joseph grinned broadly as he reached for the pie, his charming blue eyes flashing as he smiled at me. Memaw’s? My mind screamed in disbelief, but I stayed silent, trapped in a coma of forced politeness and suffocating Southern charm, a world that felt bizarrely out of place, especially in this century. I wished we were back in LA, in the cozy Silverlake pad, working on scripts and storyboards—far from this surreal scene.

To be fair, he had mentioned his family had money, but he’d been so humble and nonchalant about it that I didn’t think much of it. I just figured he was like some of the people I grew up around, comfortable but unpretentious. It wasn’t until he brought me back to his home that I realized how wrong I was. 

The napkins, embroidered with his initials, caught my eye—JA. Joseph Assi? No, Joseph Atkins, that Joseph. The one with a kind of wealth that stretched back generations, tied to land and a history you couldn’t—or wouldn’t—dare to ask about…

A sharp breath snapped me awake, and I bolted upright, slick with sweat. I wasn’t in Kentucky. I wasn’t Joseph Atkins’ sweetheart anymore. The weight of the past was gone, but the memory of that misstep—the wrong Joseph—still lingered, a harsh reminder of how utterly different they were.

Two Josephs, two worlds, and the shock of it all.

The sound of church bells stirred me, pulling me back to the present. Here in the camp, the air was thick with reality. This Joseph—the one with calloused hands, who had carved out his place in the world—was the one who mattered. He knew grit; he was strength. He hadn’t inherited his place; he’d built it brick by brick, through his own blood, sweat, and a hell of a lot of tears. His battles weren’t won on the backs of others—they were fought and earned, with every odd stacked against him. Everything he had was by merit alone.

And that was the difference—the one that drew me here and kept me rooted, heart and soul.

Isabelle walked in with a tray of her Arabic coffee, her eyes catching mine before I could even speak. She seemed to read my sweat soaked face—my turmoil from my dreams, the weight I carried—and with just a glance, she nodded, understanding it all without a word. "Al Raji?" she asked softly. I nodded, a quiet sigh escaping my lips.  

Without hesitation, she took my hand, gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze, and then pointed to her heart. I smiled, feeling the connection, the silent language between us.

“Ma Saint Charbel,” she said, her voice calm but laced with urgency. “You must go to Charbel today. Ask Zou Zou.”

Zou Zou? Joseph? She smiled and nodded, confirming my unspoken question. But who was Charbel, and who was Zou Zou?

I blinked, trying to process it all. “Alright,” I whispered, the weight of her words slowly settling over me.

Joseph had gathered me up, and as we started down the winding roads, I couldn’t help but ask, "Who’s Charbel? Isabelle seemed so insistent I go see him. Is he a close friend of yours?" My curiosity was piqued, eager to meet more of Joseph's circle.

Joseph chuckled, glancing over at me with a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, you’ll meet Charbel soon enough. He’s someone special—someone I think you’ll really connect with." He paused, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. "You’ll love him, I’m sure of it."

Intrigued, I leaned in, waiting for more, but then Joseph switched gears. "But first," he continued, his voice taking on a lighter tone, "I promised my friend Rou we’d meet her. We’re picking her up before we head out for sushi."

The way he said Rou—soft, almost affectionate—caught my attention. I felt an odd flicker of something. Was it just me, or did his tone shift when he mentioned her? My mind raced, imagining Rou as someone important to Joseph, maybe more than just a friend. Was she beautiful, mysterious, or perhaps someone with a shared history?

I tried to shake it off, focusing instead on Charbel, but Rou’s name hung in the air like a question unanswered. I wasn’t sure why, but I suddenly found myself eager to meet her too.

"First off, I can't believe there's sushi here!" I laughed. "But yeah, that sounds cool. Oh, and I almost forgot—who is Zou Zou? Isabelle mentioned that name too, and I didn't really get it."

Joseph burst into laughter, his deep chuckle echoing through the car. "Oh, that's me! That’s what people I’m close with call me around here." I blinked in surprise. "Zou Zou?!" I repeated, trying not to laugh. "That sounds more like a froufrou French poodle’s name, not… you!"

Joseph smirked, clearly amused. "Yeah, well, it's just one of those things. Arabs love nicknames. Everyone’s got like at least a few around here."

"How do you guys even know who you're talking about, then?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. He shrugged with a grin. "I don’t know, we just do. Keeps life interesting, I guess."

"I suppose it keeps you on your toes," I replied, still trying to wrap my mind around calling him Zou Zou. "So, what’s my nickname?"

Joseph gave me a sideways glance, his smile widening. "You can’t just ask for a nickname. Don’t you know the rules? A nickname has to happen naturally. You can’t want it—it’s like luck. The more you chase it, the more it runs away. But when you least expect it, boom, there it is." I laughed, shaking my head. "Great. Ok, so I just gotta wait for fate to hand me a nickname?"

"Exactly," Joseph said with a wink. "And trust me, it’ll be something totally unexpected."

"Like Zou Zou," I teased.

He grinned, "Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. It might grow on you." 

I couldn't stop giggling at the idea of calling him Zou Zou for the rest of the day.

Joseph pulled the car to a stop and turned to me. “We’re here. I’ll run up and grab Rou,” he said casually. 

"Okay," I replied, but as he walked away, I couldn’t shake this strange feeling creeping up on me. I didn’t know why, but something about meeting her felt unusual. I hadn’t felt this way when I met Lita or any of his other friends. This was...different.

As the minutes dragged on, I started to get restless. What’s taking him so long? I thought, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. Joseph had been gone for what felt like forever. Maybe they were catching up? Or... maybe something else was going on? I tried to brush it off, but the longer I sat there alone, the more unsettled I felt. 

Just as I was about to check for the time again, the door swung open, and Joseph and Rou appeared, walking toward the car. As they came down the steps, Rou waved to someone behind her—a very attractive man who seemed... well, more than just a brother. He had that air about him, the kind that made you take a second look. I tried not to stare.

Rou, on the other hand, was striking in her own right. She was curvy and undeniably beautiful, with long, dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her makeup was flawless, like she had just stepped off the set of one of those glamorous Arab music videos—the ones where the women are always impossibly gorgeous, crooning to the camera, singing about love and escape in a world that felt far more romantic than reality. Rou could easily fit into that scene, dazzling and confident.

She slid into the Jimmy, and Joseph introduced us with his usual charm. "April, this is Rou."

"Nice to meet you," she said with a smile, her English flawless, like everyone else I’d met outside of the camp.  She seemed friendly enough, quickly diving into casual conversation, filling the space with light chatter as we drove.

I tried to play it cool, but something was gnawing at me. Trying to sound casual, I asked, "So, how long have you been living at your place? It's such a cute hilltop bungalow—it kind of reminds me of those spots up in Beachwood Canyon by the Hollywood Sign, right, Joseph?" He nodded in agreement, playing along.

Rou responded so casually it nearly caught me off guard. "Oh, it's really sweet—I love it! But I don’t live there yet. That’s my fiancé’s house."

Fiancé?! I nearly choked on my own breath. My eyes must’ve widened like a cartoon character’s, but thankfully it was dark, and no one could see my reaction. Her fiancé? Then what was with all the over-the-top flirting with Joseph?

I sat there, pretending to listen to their conversation, but my mind was racing. Why was she flirting with him like that if she’s engaged? I kept asking myself. Her playful glances and easy affection with Joseph felt... more than friendly. But it wasn’t my business, was it? Still, it bothered me—a lot more than it should have. I couldn’t figure out why, but the idea of Rou being so comfortable with Joseph, despite being engaged, twisted something inside me. 

I turned to look out the window, trying to distract myself as we drove through the night, but the thoughts kept circling back, leaving me feeling uneasy.

I practically leaped out of the car the moment we pulled up to the sushi place, grateful to finally get some air and shake off the strange energy lingering from the drive. The cool evening breeze was exactly what I needed. I was especially relieved when I saw Vince and his brother waiting for us outside, flanked by Pierre, their permanent Entourage doppelganger sidekick. It felt like the universe was tossing me a lifeline—thank God for reinforcements.

"April!" they called out in unison, all smiles as they rushed over to hug and kiss me like we were long-lost cousins at a family reunion. It was warm, genuine, and immediately put me at ease. Even more surprising, they had Christmas presents for me, wrapped and ready. What?! I thought, a little overwhelmed by the generosity. I barely knew these guys, but here they were, showering me with kindness and gifts. Beirut hospitality was no joke.

We stepped into this trendy, posh little sushi joint, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn I’d been transported back to LA. The place had the same downtown vibe as my favorite sushi spot back home—the dim lighting, minimalist décor, and hipster music that no one can ever quite name. It was like a slice of home had followed me halfway across the world.

Joseph wasted no time, ordering a round of sake and edamame for the table like he owned the place. We all started scribbling down our sushi orders on those little white slips of paper, and for a second, I completely forgot we were in Beirut. It felt like just another night out with friends in LA—minus the canyons and sprawling highways, of course.

Everyone spoke English for my benefit, which I appreciated more than I could say. It made the evening feel seamless and easy—except for Rou, who kept slipping into Arabic with Joseph. They had these little side conversations, making jokes and laughing softly like they were sharing some secret code, and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes.

Why does she bug me so much? I thought, trying to distract myself by eating more edamame. She was perfectly nice to me, and hadn't done anything wrong, but every time she leaned in close to Joseph, something in me twisted. Maybe it was the way her voice softened when she spoke to him, or how she had that casual confidence of someone who knows she’s beautiful and isn’t afraid to flaunt it. 

But no, I had no real reason to be irritated with her. She’d been nothing but pleasant, and yet... Every time she laughed at one of Joseph’s jokes, I felt my patience slipping. I took a deep breath, reminding myself to relax. We were here to enjoy sushi, not to stew into some imagined rivalry. Still, I made a mental note to keep an eye on her. Something about her wasn’t sitting right with me. But more than that, why did I even care? This wasn’t like me. This was an uncomfortable, foreign feeling creeping in. Was I… actually jealous? And wait—did I have feelings for Joseph?

Holy shit.

“So, April, do you have a fiancé too?!” Rou asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. She leaned in, her voice sweet yet direct. “You’re so smart and beautiful—I’m sure someone has already claimed you, no?”

I froze for a split second. Wow, right to it, huh? I could feel the weight of her words hanging in the air, like a neon sign, and suddenly every pair of eyes at the table was glued to me. Claimed? That’s rich coming from her. The guys, who up until now had been politely minding their business, were suddenly very interested in my love life. Apparently, no one had had the guts to ask me that yet—until now. I could practically feel the collective anticipation radiating off them. 

I tried to choke down the awkwardness, but my throat was Sahara-level dry. “Umm… no, I’m not engaged,” I squeaked, thinking—hoping—that would be the end of it. Of course, it wasn’t.

“Not engaged?” Rou gasped, her shock exaggerated, as if I’d just admitted to some scandalous secret. “But why?!”

I shifted in my seat, feeling a little like I was under a spotlight. “Well…” I started, carefully choosing my words, “I had a serious relationship that ended a while back, and I just haven’t really been in the mindset for anything since then.”

It was quiet for a second. I hoped that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity, but of course, Rou wasn’t finished. She tilted her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly on the table as she pressed on. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What was his name? How come you broke up? Was it because of his work?”

I blinked. Wow, she really gets in there, doesn’t she? I thought, glancing at the guys, who were suddenly riveted, hanging on every word. Even Joseph was watching me closely, though he had that half-smile he always wore, like none of this could faze him. I could practically feel myself sinking deeper into the chair.

“His name was... Joseph,” I mumbled quickly and quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s a writer, and worked with a pretty well-known director in LA.” I forced a smile, pushing through the awkwardness. “We were together for a while, but then he had to go back home for some family stuff… and he just ended up staying there. Never came back to LA.”

I prayed that would be the end of it, but the silence around the table lingered for a beat too long. Everyone just stared at me, like they were waiting for the punchline. Then Rou—of course—gasped dramatically, her eyes going wide in pure, over-the-top shock.

“Wait, wait, wait!” she shrieked, practically bouncing in her seat. She whipped her head toward Joseph, then back to me, her smile spreading wider by the second. “Did you say Joseph?!”

I blinked and shrugged, already knowing this was about to turn into a thing. I mean, yeah, it was kind of weird, but was it that weird?

“Oh, thank God,” Rou said, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief, though the mischievous glint in her eye said she was just getting started. “For a second there, I thought you meant this Joseph!” She pointed to our Joseph, her grin growing. “Can you imagine? Two Josephs? What are the odds?! That would be so wild!”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “No, no, it wasn’t this Joseph,” I laughed awkwardly, hoping to move on, but I could already see where this was going. Here we go...

“Just imagine!” Rou continued, clearly loving every second of this. “You with another Joseph! Two Josephs in one lifetime? "That’s basically fate! You’d be destined for him!" she said with a playful wink, gesturing toward Joseph like he was some prize stallion at the Kentucky Derby.

Joseph shifted uncomfortably as Rou’s teasing dragged on. I could see him glance at me out of the corner of his eye, sensing my growing unease. He knew about my breakup, but he didn’t know the full, awkward detail—that both of them shared the same name. I could tell he didn’t want this conversation to spiral into something that would make me feel worse. 

He managed a small, nervous laugh, trying to play along without adding to my discomfort. “Hey, maybe the universe is trying to tell you something,” he joked softly, but his voice lacked its usual confidence, as if he was second-guessing whether the joke was even okay. 

I smiled back at him, appreciating the effort he was making to keep things light, even though it was painfully clear this was getting a bit out of hand. His concern was written all over his face—he didn’t want me to feel bad, and that only made the situation more awkward.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned, my face flushing even deeper. “It’s just a name!”

Rou, however, was in full mean girl instigator mode. She practically squealed with delight, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “No, no, no, this is too good! First a writer named Joseph, and now our editor Joseph? I mean, come on—it’s “written in the stars!”

By now, the whole table was laughing, and I could feel myself blushing even more. I grabbed my sake, trying to hide behind my glass, but Rou wasn’t letting up. “Seriously, April,” she teased, her grin wider than ever. “At least if you end up with this Joseph, you won’t even have to change the name on your wedding invites!”

I groaned, laughing despite how ridiculous it was getting. “Okay, okay, I get it! Two Josephs is strange,” I muttered, careful not to mention they even shared the same exact initials. Shaking my head, I sighed, “I’m never living this down, am I?”

Joseph smiled sympathetically. “Not a chance,” he said with a wink. But Rou wasn’t finished. She leaned in, teasing, “Maybe you’re just drawn to Josephs. Could be a cosmic connection, you know?” Joseph, catching on, smiled softly. “Cosmic connection, huh? I like that,” he added, his tone gentler now.

The waitress finally brought out all the sushi, and I couldn’t have been happier for the distraction. It felt like a rescue from the constant teasing, a break from being the punchline. As I reached for the first piece of salmon nigiri, Rou announced she needed more cigarettes, and Joseph offered to walk with her to the store next door. The second they were gone, I felt an immediate wave of relief. It wasn’t just that the teasing had died down—I also wanted a moment to dig deeper, to figure out what exactly was going on between those two.

I turned to Vince, lowering my voice as I asked, “Okay, seriously—what’s up with Rou? She’s obviously into Joseph, and I can see he’s got some feelings for her too. But she’s engaged. And no one here seems to be bothered by this. Am I missing something? Do they have some sort of... I don’t know, agreement?” I was trying to keep it casual, but honestly, the whole situation made me feel a little uneasy, but maybe I was the only one not getting it.

Vince and his brother exchanged a glance, then chuckled softly. Vince leaned in, clearly not surprised by my confusion. “Ah, no, you’re not missing anything. It’s just... different with her.”

“Different how?” I asked, popping a piece of sushi into my mouth, trying to act nonchalant.

“Well, here in Lebanon, engagements can be seen as more of a trial period for some couples. You’re committed, but you still keep some independence,” Vince explained. “Most people don’t date others while engaged, but there’s a bit of flexibility. It’s more about making sure both sides are completely ready before it’s permanent.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but still puzzled. “But with Rou...?”

His brother chimed in, “Yeah, Rou and her fiancé have an agreement to keep things open while they’re engaged. It’s not something everyone does, but some couples do take the idea of ‘keeping options open’ a bit further.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the idea was so different from what I’d ever seen back home. “So, you’re telling me they’re engaged, but it’s okay for her to be dating someone else?”

“For them, yeah,” Vince said, smiling. “But that’s not the norm. Most people stick to their engagement, take the time to get to know each other better, and don’t date around. But some, like Rou, have a different understanding. It just depends on the couple.”

I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head slightly. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think I could do it. I wouldn’t be exactly comfortable sharing my fiancé.”

“And once they’re married, then what?” I asked, now genuinely curious.

Vince shrugged. “Once you’re married, that’s it. No divorce. No take-backs. Marriage here is for life, and the moment it happens, the pressure’s on to start a family. You get married, and it’s not uncommon to start having kids almost right away—like, literally that night.”

His brother laughed. “Yeah, no one messes around once the wedding’s done. But that’s why people take their engagements so seriously. You’ve got to be sure—really sure—before you take that step, because once you do, you’re in it for the long haul. It’s all about giving yourself that freedom while you’re engaged so that when you finally say ‘I do,’ there’s no doubt in your mind.” 

I leaned back in my chair, letting their words sink in. It was a completely different mindset. Back home, an engagement felt like the final step before marriage, the “done deal” moment when you started picking out flowers and venues. Here, it was almost the opposite—a chance to keep things light, explore, and make sure that when you finally said "I do," it was for good. There was something oddly freeing about it.

It explained a lot, especially Rou’s carefree attitude, the way she seemed perfectly comfortable flirting with Joseph despite being engaged. Of course, she would be one of those special couples that could pull off this “exaggerated trial period” like a pro. Not everyone could navigate that without it turning into chaos, but Rou? She had it down to an art form, making it look effortless—like this was exactly how it should be. 

I couldn’t help but wonder what that kind of engagement freedom would feel like. The idea of testing the waters before diving in completely, with no fear of judgment, no rushed decisions. Maybe it did make for stronger marriages in the end. By the time you reached the altar, you’d have lived through all the "what ifs." No second thoughts, no regrets.

But still, the whole concept—being engaged and still dating, this “exaggerated trial period”—it was a lot to wrap my head around. A part of me admired the flexibility of it, while another part just couldn’t imagine living that way. Yet, as I glanced at the now-empty spot where Joseph and Rou had been sitting, I felt a little more at ease. Maybe there was no grand drama, no complicated secret. Maybe they were just figuring things out at their own pace, enjoying the freedom of being engaged before life got serious.

And then it hit me—maybe that was the secret. Not the independence or the trial period, but the willingness to give each other space to figure it all out. Maybe that’s how things last.

Or… maybe not. Just as I started to feel settled, something about the way Joseph had looked at Rou earlier tugged at me—a flicker of something more than casual, something that made my heart pull tight.  A wave of warmth rushed through me, settling low in my stomach, not quite butterflies, but something more unsettling—like the slow climb of a rollercoaster just before it drops. And in that moment, I realized I had never felt this kind of pull on my heart before, never experienced this dizzying mix of excitement and nausea. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure of anything anymore.