There’s a pattern to how my eyes work. When I’m not interested in a date, I’ve learned to craft an illusion of attention: speaking more than necessary, gesturing with my hands to draw focus away from my wandering gaze. The room becomes my refuge: light fixtures casting circles of warmth, exposed beams stretching overhead, the condensation rolling down my water glass. I find solace in anything but direct eye contact, filling the air with words and movements. Sometimes I wonder if they notice, these women whose eyes I can’t meet.

I was ten minutes early to Emilia. You know, that Italian place next to Blanco Coffee in Permata Hijau. I used to work at their Jogja branch as a barista during uni. Different city, same coffee beans, same ambience. Sometimes I imagine being in Blanco with its calm atmosphere whenever I need to be deeply focused on something important. Tonight, the familiar scent of coffee drifted through the shared wall, but for once, it wasn’t my destination.

She walked in at 7:04. Four minutes late, but who’s counting? I caught her eyes before anything else. Eyes that smiled before her lips did. God, she was beautiful. She wore this burgundy blouse that somehow made her skin glow, though I wouldn’t fully appreciate that yet. I was too busy studying the menu while waiting.

We started with crostini prosciutto and truffle arancini, paired with a bottle of slightly chilled Montepulciano. She opened the conversation with how Jakarta’s sunsets have been getting prettier lately. “I had to stop several times to take pictures of the sunset”, she said. Maybe that’s why she was a little bit late. I totally understand. Today’s sunset was pretty.

While she munched her part of crostini she talked about this hidden jazz cafe she discovered in Kemang. She described it as a “sanctuary”. “Let’s go there”, I said. “ It’s closed, and their instagram account seems inactive”, she replied. “We’ll find another place”, I assured.

Then I told her about my scuba diving experience in Nusa Penida. The moment of panic when I went against strong current, how time seems to move differently underwater. Her eyes lit up. She started telling me about her recent trip to Lombok, how she really wanted to try scuba diving but she was afraid of going deep in the water. “I ended up spending hours just laying on the beach instead” she said, “watching the waves meet the shore. There’s something about the repetition of it. It’s like breathing”.

That’s when it happened. My eyes found hers, and they stayed there.

Brown. But not just brown. In the warm restaurant lighting, I could see rings of honey-gold circling her pupils, fading into deeper amber at the edges. Like coffee crema swirling into espresso. Like the gradient of sky at dusk.

The pappardelle beef ragu arrived alongside the Margherita pizza and arugula burrata salad. She twirled perfect spirals of pasta while telling me about this book she just finished. She leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper when dissecting the absurdity of the plot, then threw her head back laughing at the male character’s flaws. Her theories about the author’s intentions spilled out between sips of wine, fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth as she connected the dots.

We clinked our glasses once again. The wine paired perfectly with everything, including our conversation. She talked about her dreams, her vulnerabilities. That she’s afraid of being too much and not enough at the same time. That sometimes she feels like she’s running out of time to become the person she wants to be. That she worries her practical side might someday silence her adventurous one.

Is it too early to talk about something more personal?
Well, I don’t know…
Probably.

We split the tiramisu and pistachio cannoli for dessert. She had a small smudge of powdered sugar just below the right corner of her lips. I wanted to tell her. I didn’t. Some imperfections I want to keep for myself.

Two hours had passed. I hadn’t noticed time slipping away, too absorbed in her stories. She talked about this, and then talked about that, and many other things. My ears were all hers, drinking in every word while my eyes stayed fixed on those eyes, calm pools of amber.

Here, in Emilia, I found the right pair of eyes to get lost in.