The Boy Who Stutters

“I’m here,” I texted. I waited. You came with your gloomy face. It wasn’t the cheerful vibe I got from our exchanges online. I smiled. You sat beside me. Was it really you? For a second, I felt I met the wrong person.  Who was that? You drew something from your pocket and wallet. You lighted your cigar and started puffing. I still smiled. You finally moved so I followed you. You smoked as we walked so I had to distance myself. You were sorry, or were you? After a grid of streets, we entered your house. You got your own room. It smells though. I still smiled, or did I? You had the courtesy to offer one of the sandwiches you ordered from that Buy 1 Take 1 food stall where we just personally met. I refused; you haven’t eaten yet, you said. I explored your room – with my eyes – as I always do with every new place I’m in. You were a college student. As I’m about to become as well. I sat in front of you. I dare occupying your bed while you sit on your study chair. I wonder if I broke or bui