Chapter Text
“The amount of creeps on here could fill a small town,” Zoey mutters, swiping left on another concerning dating profile. “Why are there so many dead fish?”
Rumi chuckles and shakes her head. She lifts from their couch at the sound of the microwave beeping and fresh, buttery popcorn popping in a bag. “Remind me, why are we doing this again?” she calls from the kitchen.
“Because I refuse to be that meme couple that ‘saw you from across the bar, we like your vibe’ type,” Zoey answers, exaggerating a deep voice with a grimace.
Rumi shakes the bag over the trash to get rid of the unopened kernels, then opens the cabinet for a bowl. Once she places it on the counter, she opens the bag and inhales deeply. Nothing beats a fresh batch.
She tosses a piece into her mouth and asks, “Isn't that what we are doing? Just digitally?”
Zoey doesn’t look her way, still swiping on her phone, “This way there is consent to it. A match is ‘I like your vibe, too’. Plus I gotta be honest, my stomach can’t handle any more strawberry daiquiris."
Rumi empties the bag of popcorn into the bowl and shakes her head, “You don’t have to order those every time, you know.”
“You know as soon as I sit down at that stool they call to me,” Zoey plops her phone in her lap, looking over her shoulder at Rumi now with narrowing eyes. “How dare you judge me?”
Rumi lifts her hands in mock surrender, “No judgement here, babe. Just saying water is a viable option, too.”
Zoey rolls her eyes playfully and shifts back on the couch, continuing her scroll. “Yeah, yeah. Get back here, you’re missing peak fish content.”
Rumi grabs the bowl and plops back down next to Zoey. She's swiping and glancing at profiles with lightning speed, so Rumi just grabs another fist of popcorn to munch on and glances at the current Kdrama playing on the screen.
She rolls her eyes at the plot twist, of course it was the main character’s mother. Classic.
They decided to download the dating app that night after work to see what all the fuss was about, since neither of them felt like going out. Some of the crowds that have been showing up at their typical bar have been less than savory lately. Plus, going out to the bar every weekend is exhausting and expensive. With the less than satisfying results of people they’ve met to date there, Zoey and Rumi were eager to try something new.
Polyamory in general isn’t something that’s new to them, they’ve been happily practicing it for several years now. There were long, thorough talks about consent, boundaries and risks. The decision to open their relationship for more didn’t come without bumps or jealousy, but it’s something they’ve been able to work with. The rewards of it have been worth it for the most part.
They’ve dated separately and together, had some relationships that ended amicably. Others… not so much. The practice fits them well. They are still incredibly, stupidly, profoundly in love with each other. However, it helps having another person to satisfy Zoey’s bottomless pit of sexual desire when Rumi’s dealing with her own fluctuating needs.
After a couple of years, they’ve learned they much prefer dating as a unit rather than separately.
Or, as Zoey likes to unfortunately call it, unicorn hunting.
They do try their best to avoid being that cliche, though.
Zoey pauses her scrolling to show Rumi another example of the “dead fish epidemic” on the app. She saw a handsome man wearing reflective sunglasses and a visor, holding a modest bass by the mouth.
“They are just showing off their hunter gathering skills,” Rumi says with a chuckle.
“Ew,” Zoey laughs too. She sighs and plops her phone down on her lap, “I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
Rumi tilts her head, “Why do you think that?”
“What if one of our students sees our profile? That's sort of tough to explain.”
“We're not doing anything illegal per say. Dating apps are like second nature now, I feel like they’d be worried if we didn’t use them.”
Zoey shrugs, “Yeah, if we were single folks. Not two people looking for a relationship. Wouldn’t that upset… some folks?”
The pause between the end of that question isn’t unnoticed by Rumi. She knows exactly who she’s referencing.
Celine. Her aunt technically, more of an overprotective mother.
She has a bitter taste in her mouth suddenly, knowing it’s possible there would be some backlash from her.
She wasn’t too happy already about Rumi and Zoey’s relationship, not that she was homophobic or anything. It was because Zoey is also employed at the University. Since Rumi is on the board of directors (not necessarily by choice), Celine is very in tune with Rumi’s image.
She tried to break them up once, but Rumi fished out the employee code of conduct, all billion pages of them, and pointed out that there weren't any codes against dating, especially since they were in different departments.
Ever since then, things have been… tense.
Them looking for a third online definitely wouldn’t bode well with Celine, but frankly, Rumi doesn’t care. Being on the board doesn’t mean she needs to be a nun.
Rumi squares her jaw, noting the finality of the decision, “If she finds out, I will handle it.”
Zoey softens, lines creasing her forehead with worry, “Rumi…”
She shakes her head, silencing her protest, “I mean it. We aren’t doing anything wrong. Plus, we’re in LA. Who isn’t poly out here?”
Zoey giggles, grateful for the distraction, “Fair.” She grabs her phone resting in her lap to open it back up to offer it to Rumi, “Want a go at it?”
Rumi shrugs, “Sure.”
Once Rumi takes the phone, Zoey scooches closer to her and wraps her arm around her waist. She nuzzles her chin on Rumi’s shoulder, taking a good handful of popcorn to sample. Their own profile has some indiscernible selfies in there. Some do show Zoey from her old internship, one posing near one of the whale sharks at the Georgia Aquarium. Rumi has one on there playing a grand piano when she thought she was alone. (Zoey took the photo.)
Their summary is short and sweet, Zoey made sure to put “Ask me how I feel about the Black-breasted leaf turtle…”
Rumi just listed Music in her interests.
In the first few profiles, Rumi just swipes through. Nothing wrong, just not clicking with her. She sighs, something churning in her gut.
“This feels… shallow,” Rumi says after another swipe.
“It’s not unlike going to a bar and picking out the biggest cutie in the room. It’s just digital,” Zoey hums, mouth full of popcorn.
Rumi shrugs slightly, not enough to jostle Zoey, “Fair.”
A couple more, then one profile has her almost dropping the phone.
They both breathe out some sort of curse.
“Holy shit...”
“Shit on a stick!”
There’s no way.
The image is easily recognizeable. Pink hair, smoldering eyes, an attitude that screams “don’t fuck with me”.
“Kang Mira?! The Kang Mira?!” Zoey squeals.
Apparently, yes. That Kang Mira. The divisive, bombshell model Kang Mira, on a dating app in Los Angeles, California. Both Rumi and Zoey already follow her social media, enraptured by the amazing work she’s doing for transgender rights and acceptance in Korea. She’s incredibly outspoken and doesn’t take a lot of bullshit. Her career recently has hit off globally because of it, making her a pioneer and spokesperson for queer people all around.
Her work isn’t the only reason Rumi and Zoey follow her, she’s also devastatingly attractive.
Or, as Zoey would put it, “Would” after each time she’d pop up on their feed.
Rumi shakes her head, “There’s no way. Doesn’t she live in Seoul?”
“Well, yeah. She could be in LA for some shoots,” Zoey replies.
“And be on a dating app? You would think she’d have a stack of people waiting to date her?” Rumi asks.
“Probably,” Zoey hums. “Look at her profile, what does it say?”
Rumi taps on the screen to expand it.
Mira, 25. Trans.
Not here for bullshit.
They both frown.
“That doesn’t help much,” Zoey hums.
“That is kind of like her, though.”
Zoey shakes her head, “Definitely a catfish. There’s no way she’s just chilling among the sludge of dating apps.”
“Hey now,” Rumi pokes Zoey, “We are among the sludge.”
Zoey giggles, “You know what I mean! There’s no way she downloaded this app and saw the sea of dead fish and thought, ‘yes, more’.”
Rumi shakes her head and scrolls through some of the other photos on her profile. Some contain professional, clean shoots. Others are a few mirror selfies.
“Those could have been ripped from Instagram,” Rumi points out.
“Maybe, but what if it’s really her?” Zoey questions.
Rumi looks at Zoey now, “I thought you were sure she was a catfish.”
“Oh I’m definitely leaning towards catfish, but what if in some five percent chance she’s actually Mira?”
Rumi smirks, “Five percent? How did you come up with that math?”
“It’s simple really. Math I will not be elaborating further on. Tired brain and all,” Zoey grins.
“Very mysterious,” Rumi hums. “What should we do, then?”
Zoey plots with a finger tapping her chin, “I believe we have an investigation on our hands. We should swipe right.”
“And if she doesn’t swipe back?”
“Only way to find out, let me see my phone,” Zoey reaches over.
Rumi pulls rears back, not wanting to give it up just yet, “Wait, I want to look at something–”
“Just give me–”
Both of their hands grip the screen, pandemonium occurs.
You’ve super liked Mira!
“Rumi!” Zoey whines.
“What?! You are the one who grabbed the phone!” Rumi defends.
“Our whole investigation is ruined! Now we seem too eager!”
“What do you mean? Because we super liked her?”
Zoey facepalms, “She’ll get a notification we liked her with this. Now we look weird!”
“Or she’ll see how cool we are and have no choice but to swipe right on us.”
Zoey’s face straightens to a dead pan, the long lessons Zoey has given Rumi about social media have gone to waste apparently.
“Rumi,” she says, with a hint of exasperation.
Rumi tried to come up with a sort of rebuttal, but Zoey’s phone breaks them of a pending debate.
You’ve matched with Mira!
The silence is loud, both of their eyes widen as they stare at the screen.
Zoey grabs the phone before Rumi could react. She types a frantic apology.
R+Z: We’re so sorry! Hand slipped on our end, didn’t mean to super like. We meant to like of course! Just taken aback by your beauty ;)
Rumi couldn’t stop her before she hit send.
“Zoey! Now who’s looking weird?”
“I panicked!” Zoey pouts, eyes wide.
There’s a beat of silence before Rumi relaxes her shoulders and starts to laugh. It’s absurd, really, the two freaking out about a prospective love interest. However, Zoey isn’t in on the joke, frowning more as she wipes a tear. Rumi soothes the lines on Zoey’s forehead with a kiss. “It’ll be alright, we can just move on to the next catfish adventure when we see it. We’ll have to work on our cool factor in the meantime.”
Zoey’s phone buzzes again.
M: Cute.
Rumi swallows hard. The one word is demeaning, yet genuine? Hard to tell with one word, and the person who typed it being a total mystery. The two just sit there, staring at it.
She grabs the phone, looking at Zoey for reassurance. “Should we say we know who she is?”
Zoey shakes her head, “If she's the real deal, that'll likely scare her off. She may want normal human interaction on here.”
Rumi nods, typing out a response.
R+Z: What’s a girl like you doing on an app like this?
“Nice, babe,” Zoey praises. “Cheesy, but classic.”
The reply comes surprisingly quick.
M: Just seeing what’s around. What about you two? There’s no way you two beautiful women are in need of company. There must be folks lining out the door.
Something drops deep in Rumi’s gut. Her heart flutters against her will.
She types back.
R+Z: We said the same about you. We were hoping for something deep. Something meaningful.
M: Interesting place to look for that, but you may be in luck.
Rumi swallows something thick in her throat.
“Play it cool, Rums,” Zoey coaches from her side.
She nods, determined.
R+Z: Oh? And why is that?
M: Little early to disclose. That’s something you two need to work for..
The confidence, the slight order. There’s a flutter deep in Rumi’s chest. She bites her lip.
“She’s good,” Zoey hums, hiding a little more in Rumi’s shoulder.
Rumi grabs some more popcorn, wondering exactly how she's going to follow up with that.
Luckily, “Mira” doesn't make her.
M: So, what do you two do for a living?
R+Z: Were both professors at Honmoon University. Zoey teaches more of biology and Marine Science, and I teach Musical Arts. We’re both working on our Doctorates.
Rumi chooses not to disclose her status in the University, just in case it is a catfish. Don’t want to give anyone ammo for blackmail.
M: Goodness, those aren’t easy to come by. I’d love to hear more about it, what made you guys choose those fields?
R+Z: It's corny but we both felt that calling at a young age. Zoey felt that first love when her parents gave her Zoobooks as a kid. Read every single page front and back till they gave out. Never stopped learning as she grew up. Me (Rumi), just couldn't stop learning about music. It's the glue of society, and sometimes a sledgehammer on a fragile wall. Right now I’m getting into multiculturalism and how the music industry has shifted as a whole with genre blending.
M: I adore this. You two seem so passionate about it. I can’t wait to hear more about what you two have learned over the years.
Rumi feels Zoey’s hand clench her forearm. She’s quiet, but Rumi knows the excitement is about to boil over. Only a few messages have been sent, but the energy of the room is already shifting. Rumi feels it too, but she’s keeping her reservations about this user at the forefront. The last thing she wants is to get heartbroken, or Zoey.
She types out, We’d love to, if you prove you can handle the pop quiz after.
Rumi cringes, maybe a little too on the nose. She moves to delete it.
Zoey stops her, “Wait, that was good!”
“It’s a little early for goofy double entendres, Zoey.”
She shakes her head, “That’s literally how we flirt, Rums. If she can’t take us at our dumbass jokes then she doesn’t deserve us at all!”
Rumi chuckles, “Alright, alright. We won’t catfish the catfisher.”
She hits send.
The reply comes in quick.
M: If I fail, can you tutor me afterhours?
Zoey raises her fist in triumph, “Our catfish is a loser! Fuck yeah!”
The two bark out relieved, belly tingling laughs. What an odd circumstance they find themselves in.
After a few moments of calming breaths and wiping tears, Rumi looks at Zoey with overwhelming fondness.
“I love you,” she hums, cheeks almost burning with a smile.
Zoey somehow smiles wider, “And I love you, butterbean.”
Rumi leans in, teeth initially clacking from their smiles, then lips meeting officially. The kiss is brief, but grounding them back into the moment.
She lifts away from Zoey and asks, “What should we say now?”
“Well, she hasn’t told us what she does for a living,” Zoey shrugs.
“True,” Rumi hums.
R+Z: At a price. Only if you tell us what you do for a living.
M: Hmm, I can live with those terms. I work in investments.
Both Zoey and Rumi make a confused sound. That’s not what they were expecting.
R+Z: What do you invest in, if you don’t mind us asking?
M: Little things here and there. I’ve owned and sold a variety of projects that grow successful.
R+Z: Do you have any examples? Maybe something we’ll recognize?
M: Oh there’s definitely projects you’ll recognize, but I’ll leave that for suspense. Got to keep up the mystery just a tad.
R+Z: What about after our first date?
M: We’ll see. <3
-
This supposed catfish doesn’t back down. Not in the slightest.
It’s become a ritual each night, both of them kicking their feet as they chat with “Mira” on the app.
Their investigation is rocky. One night they are absolutely sure it is the real deal, the next they are back to square one with their hypotheses. They don't learn a lot from her, unsurprisingly. The person in the profile isn’t eager to give details, but the details that are begrudgingly given is information that anyone would find over the internet.
Zoey and Rumi would try in certain conversations to goad her into more information, but she'd reply with coy responses like “That’s confidential,” And “maybe later :P”
It’s frustrating, really. Both Rumi and Zoey open up freely about anything “Mira” asks about them. They talk in length about their careers, their not illegal relationship and how they met.
She's sweet, though. “Mira” will follow up with a small detail like Zoey’s turtle plushies with “Show them to me,” or ask what flavor of song Rumi is feeling for the week. She even listens to recommendations. With feedback.
She is incredibly flirty as well, like breath stealing one liners and cheesy quips the next. Zoey pretends to faint off the couch clutching her heart, sometimes multiple times a night over it.
Considering the mystery of “Mira”, they both can’t help but feel giddy each time her notifications pop up on their phone. After about a week of chatting, Mira suggests they move to a different app so they can all text, not just on Zoey’s phone.
They settle on Snapchat, which is fine but it doesn't help their investigation. “Mira” explained it's easier this way since she travels internationally so often.
It makes sense. A phone number would have told them wonders, though. Of course, the location is turned off and there isn't even a Bitmoji on the account. Just the username PinkNebula2000. “Mira” used to be heavily into space when asked about it.
Once that next step is taken, however, it feels like the shackles of the app have changed the dynamic for the better. Even throughout the day, “Mira” will send them snapchats of little snippets of life. They’ll receive photos of brunches, places she’s visiting, but never her face.
Rumi and Zoey treat it like new clues to their investigation. They study each photo with minor details to try and decipher whether this “Mira” is a catfish or the real deal.
It’s an unfortunate, hard to explain obsession. As soon as a photo comes through, one would open the picture and take a photo of it on the other one’s phone. This way “Mira” won’t get a notification for a screenshot. They’d spend a while analyzing every pixel they see, zooming in on backgrounds and the structures of the room she’s in.
One time they studied a photo of beauty products from her bathroom for almost thirty minutes, googling each product they could find. They’d compare it to the photos on her instagram, hoping to find matches.
This Catfish suspect is loaded. Of course they are, cause who says they invest in projects for a living?
The products they use, the quality of the construction in the spaces she lives in, it’s all pointing towards money.
However, they still can’t find that final confirmation from what she’s sending them, and it’s driving them wild.
Zoey has to lock her phone in her office during her lectures, and Rumi can’t help but linger her eyes on her phone, tempted to check for a notification. It feels like every second of their day has been consumed by “Mira”, and just what is lingering underneath the person texting them back.
M: Do you guys ever miss Seoul? Ever thinking of coming back?
R: At times. I miss the over all feeling of safety over there, and the people. Though, we both don't have family there anymore so it's hard to find a reason to go.
Z: I miss it, too but same here. It's hard to leave my dad alone these days. What about you, Mira?
M: I miss the food. A lot of the places here are all Americanized. It's hard to find just regular old bibimbap without some dumbass twist to it.
Z: Ooooh! You're just going to the fancy places. Rumi and I can get you the hookup for a real Korean restaurant. Kid doing homework on the table and everything.
M: promise?
R: it's a date!
M: cute.
-
“Mira” is much more responsive during the day. She’s actively engaged in what Rumi and Zoey are doing and remembering the light dramas that are vented about in the University.
M: How is what’s her face, Zoey? The “aspiring doctor”?
“Mira” is referring to one of Zoey’s student’s having an outburst. Zoey in her intro to biology class, had gone over the difference between sex and gender in the human side of things.
It got a little… heated, needless to say. Unfortunately, due to recent politics, a boring lesson has turned into a tense political battle each time.
Zoey stands two feet down on the issue, always, and defended her lecture from the bigoted student. She’s well within her right to do that, but once Zoey called her a “trust funded-airhead”, that ruffled the wrong feathers.
Celine had to step in once that student almost posted the incident to social media, it would have cost Zoey her job.
After a tense week and unfortunate dealings, the student later was pulled from the class. Zoey came out with a metaphorical slap on the wrist.
She ranted about the incident on the group chat, and her girls were so supportive.
Z: Thankfully her and her little friends ended up dropping the class, too. It’s much more peaceful. I hope that idiot learns her lesson.
R: I doubt it, people like her with parents like that are used to cleaning up messes rarely learn their lesson. Shit stains.
Strangely, Mira doesn’t reply for a while.
For the rest of the night, even.
It’s odd, they have created a sort of ritual each night. They would send photos of their meals and how they prepared them, but tonight it was radio silence.
Even their photo of their dinner went unread.
Both of them stare at their phones, dinner finished in the dead quiet. No notifications, just a silent dread.
“Maybe we should…” Zoey begins, but cuts herself off. She sighs deeply, placing her chin under her palm.
“Was it something we said?”
“Could be the trust fund idiot thing. She's probably sensitive to that sort of stuff with her family,” Zoey says.
The “Mira” they have spoken to hasn’t disclosed that, but her family drama isn’t necessarily a secret. Kang Mira was born in a very rich and influential line in Korea. They are old money, obsessed with perfect images and the status quo.
Once she came out as a queer trans woman, that shifted quickly. They tried to hide her of course, becoming the black sheep child. Many news outlets and articles had field days for years on what was going on till she turned eighteen. She disowned her family, and learned how to survive in an unkind world. She speaks of her journey often, looking at the camera with a pointed glare that definitely felt like she was talking directly to them when asked about it.
She never seems like the type to back down, to shorten a story for her image. That’s why so many people in the community look up to her, especially Rumi and Zoey.
Rumi sighs, “Shit. I didn’t really think of that. Should we say something?”
“I’m not sure. She could just be busy, too,” Zoey shrugs.
“That’s true,” Rumi hums, staring at her quiet phone.
A few more moments of heavy silence pass by till Zoey breaks it.
“We’re pathetic, aren’t we?”
Rumi laughs, “A little. Of course we’d be pining over a catfish’s lack of response.”
“A potential catfish,” Zoey corrects.
“I don’t know, Zo. I don’t feel like we’re anywhere closer to knowing than we were two weeks ago.”
“Well, one thing is for sure, she’s into us.”
Rumi nods, focused on her napkin on the table. She folds it in neat little squares, tighter and tighter.
“Aaaand we haven’t even asked her out yet,” Zoey says.
She stops her folding, “What?”
“We haven’t!” Zoey laughs, coming to some sort of realization, “We haven’t even asked her out!”
Rumi scoffs, “Yes we did! We said we’ll take her to that Korean restaurant.”
Zoey raises a conspiratory brow, “Did we set a date? Did we even ask if she’s available?”
“Well no but…”
Her girlfriend slams her palm on the table, a little louder than she was expecting due to the oh shortly after. She quickly schools herself, “Maybe that’s why she’s sad! We’ve been chatting her up for two weeks and haven’t even asked her out!”
Rumi argues, “But she hasn’t even asked us out!”
“Maybe she’s nervous! Or was only in LA for like… a day and had to fly back to Seoul or somewhere crazy for work,” Zoey reasons.
“Well it’s not like we knew where she was, she doesn’t tell us shit!”
“It could be some weird NDA’s she’s signed or something, I don’t know!” Zoey pouts. “I say we quit beating around the bush,” she pauses for a quick giggle at the word “bush” and says, “Let’s ask her out.”
“Alright, alright,” Rumi relents, “But we should probably wait till gets back with us.”
Zoey nods, “Right. Maybe by the time we clean up she’ll send something.”
They clean up the dishes, wipe the counters, even pull out the wet wipes to be sure. During their time-killing cleaning, they look over their shoulders towards their phones, hoping out of the blue a notification would pop up.
None do.
They don’t talk much as they start their nightly routine, the silence growing heavy with each passing hour. Showers done, faces moisturized, and pillows fluffed.
Nothing.
Zoey is scrolling on some animal Tik Toks, but Rumi can tell her heart isn’t in it. She reaches over and grabs her free hand, placing her knuckles against her lips. Zoey pauses her scrolling and flops her phone against her lap to give Rumi her full attention and a sad smile.
“She’ll come around,” Rumi tries, not sure if she believes her own words or not.
Zoey scooches closer, letting her hand fall into Rumi’s lap, and leans her head against her shoulder.
“I hope so,” Zoey grumbles, “We’re a catch.”
Rumi looks at her with a seriousness that should be studied after delivering, “We’re a whole damn school of fish.”
Zoey laughs until there are tears in her eyes.
–
The response doesn’t come till one am. Zoey, the light sleeper, is the first to wake up.
In an instant, she’s tapping Rumi awake.
“Hmm? Wha?” Rumi breathes in the dark.
Zoey is already one hundred levels ahead, “She fucking responded.”
Rumi is half awake, wiping her heavy eyes while she sits up. She hums the questions again.
“Mira, she texted back,” Zoey clarifies.
“Oh shit,” Rumi grabs her phone and winces at the brightness of the screen. She rubs her eyes, blinks several times for good measure.
She feels Zoey tense up in anticipation as she reads. Rumi's breath catches as she finally understands.
M: Are you guys free this Saturday? I want to take you two out to dinner.
Rumi is suddenly very awake. She shoots up in bed, her heart going into overdrive. She swallows deeply.
“She is asking us out at one am?” Rumi frowns.
“She could be in Seoul. It's like six out there?” Zoey reasons.
Rumi hums back, “No she was just responding as if she was on our time.”
“Or maybe she was screaming, crying and throwing up for hours before sending it,” Zoey taps her chin.
“That's… graphic,” Rumi winces
Zoey groans, “No it's… It’s a yearning thing.”
Rumi, still not getting it, “I don’t think I’ve ever done that when it comes to ‘yearning.’”
“I sincerely doubt that. You were about to explode when you were trying to ask me out, and I had to finish the question for you.”
Heat creeps up Rumi’s neck. She was a mess that whole week, leaving her notes but avoiding her advances like the plague. It was bad enough to a point that Zoey had to corner her after a lecture one morning, refusing to let her leave till she just said it.
Zoey knows exactly where her train of thought went, “See? That feeling. The chronic online yearners use that phrase a lot.”
“Okay fair,” Rumi shrugs. She then smiles, looking over at Zoey, “Maybe she was ‘screaming, crying, and throwing up’.”
Zoey giggles, grabbing her phone. “That’s right, now what do we reply? We obviously are saying yes, right?”
Rumi nods, shifting closer to Zoey to look over her shoulder, “Yes.”
Just as she starts typing out the reply, she pauses her fingers. “What if she stands us up? That’s like, the classic catfish move.”
“It’s possible. She could have a valid excuse, though,” Rumi reasons.
“Yeah but those only last so long. What do you say? Give it a shot or two, what’s the worst that can happen?”
Rumi raises a brow, “Heartbreak? Us looking like fools?”
Zoey, the ever optimistic, “Or we have an excuse to go out to a fancy dinner. When’s the last time we’ve done that?”
“... It has been a while.”
“And,” Zoey’s grin widens, her excitement visible, “If we get stood up we could get a free sympathy desert. Really play it up, you know?’
Rumi can’t help but laugh, “I suppose you have a point. Should we reply to her now?”
Zoey’s eyes grow wide, “Shit, you’re right.”
She grabs her phone, and sends the reply.
Z: We’re down.
M: Shit, why are you responding? Why are you awake? I’m sorry, I should have waited to send that.
R: You’re fine, it’s not like we weren’t anxiously awaiting your reply.
Z: We were wondering when our wife would return from war…
Rumi’s palm hitting her forehead echoes in their room.
“Zoey…”
“What? It was true,” Zoey defends.
M: Cute.
M: I am sorry, though. Had some stupid things pop up. What do you guys think about Vision?
“Vision? Isn't that the–”
“Hoity toity restaurant off of 120th and Center? It sure is,” Rumi responds.
“Wow,” Zoey breathes.
R: Doesn't it take like a month to get a reservation there?
M: Not if you're me.
Rumi swallows. Hard.
M: How does seven sound?
Z: We can do seven.
R: Not meaning to sound rude or anything, but how do we know this isn't a prank you're pulling on us?
M: Would be an elaborate prank, but I understand the hesitation. Give me a few.
Both of them watch their screens with rapt attention. The room is quiet, but thick with anticipation.
Ten agonizing minutes later, a picture comes in the chat.
Rumi opens it immediately. The picture is of a laptop, open with an email with the subject line: “Reservation for three at Vision”
It says in the body:
Ms. Kang, we are delighted to have your company again! We look forward to seeing you Saturday at seven PM on the Sixteenth of August. Please reach out if you need to cancel or reschedule!
The email is signed by a Roberta, with an official looking signature from Vision.
On the corner of the laptop rests a note card with beautiful, cursive handwriting, conveniently over the current time in the corner. It's written in pink ink with a perfectly shaped heart underneath.
See you soon, R + Z.
They both choke on air. Something terrifyingly pleasant churns in Rumi's stomach.
“Holy shit we're actually doing this,” Zoey breathes.
Rumi can't help but grin, wide and hopeful, “We really are.”
“We are meeting The Kang Mira,” Zoey shakes Rumi’s shoulder, her voice climbing in octaves.
Rumi chuckles, “Or going on a very expensive date.”
“And…” Zoey frowns, then groans loudly at the realization, “Fuck it's only Tuesday!”
–
The week is terribly slow.
Rumi copes by deep diving into the world of metal music infusions and different global genres of music. It's impressive and diverse, the way that bands are able to channel classic folklore in modern ways. She writes about it in her designated column in the University's newspaper called Ryu's boom box. She typically puts in fun facts and song recommendations for the week. This week, she recommends The Hu, Bloodywood, and JAMBINAI.
She swears up and down that no one reads it, but it's a fun outlet to pass the time.
Zoey throws herself in more interactive lesson plans for her intro classes to keep them engaged and excited. Surprisingly, the transfer of energy in trophic levels exercise from herbivores to carnivores was a success. Some kids even closed their laptops to participate.
Each night the anticipation rises like a roaring tide. They pick out outfits and lay them on the bed, then completely discard the idea seconds later.
“Mira's” messages to them aren’t pulling any punches, either. In between Rumi’s rants and Zoey’s tangents, she’d drop little slips of pet names that make them completely forget what they were speaking about.
Catfish or not, Rumi and Zoey are in trouble.
No one in their seedy bar hookups have ever made them feel like “Mira” does. No one else makes Zoey blush and ramble, feel encouraged to be bold and embraced for it. Rumi loves seeing it, that tingling day dream over someone new. She loves being the one Zoey excitedly recaps their texts over, even though she’s literally in the group chat.
She loves Zoey, and this hopeful, buzzing sensation of something brewing has her clinging on to that same hope that something like this can be true. Maybe this time, her cynicism isn't right.
--
“Welcome to the Vision,” the hostess greets with a bright smile, “What is the name on your reservation?”
“Mira Kang,” Rumi answers. Her voice is surprisingly level, despite her nerves almost consuming her alive.
The hostess nods and looks down to her screen and taps a couple of times. She frowns as she reads, and Rumi can already feel her palms start to sweat. Zoey’s hand grips hers a little tighter.
“It seems like Miss Kang wanted to give you two a message. She’s running a tad late, but will be here in about fifteen minutes. Can I show you to your table? It’s ready,” the hostess looks back at them, completely unaware of the nervous energy the two are giving off.
Zoey’s grip on her hand turns deadly, and Rumi has to fight every instinct to squeak.
Rumi nods at the hostess, mustering whatever strength she has to appear normal, “Yes, please.”
The hostess grabs three menus and guides them through the restaurant. This is the first time both Rumi and Zoey have been there, but its reputation precedes itself. Soft and easy piano music plays in the center of it by a pianist in sharp dresswear. Above them is a massive crystal chandelier, one similar to the iconic piece from Phantom of the Opera. There's a light inside it, lighting up the dining hall with a soft glow.
Meanwhile each table has live candlelight inside oval glass structures above pressed white tablecloth. The chairs the patrons sit in are tall on the backs, furnished with bright red fabric and gold linings that match the curtains on the windows.
The windows are tall, not exactly floor to ceiling but almost there. Crown moulding and golden designs are littered along the walls.
It’s pretentious, it’s money, it’s–
“It’s just like Val Royeaux,” Zoey whispers to herself. Rumi shakes her head, it must be one of those fantasy games she plays.
Their table is close to the back of the restaurant, but not too secluded.
The hostess quickly places their leatherbook menus on the table and fills up their water glasses. Rumi takes a seat facing the back of the restaurant while Zoey sits opposite her. The empty chair, Mira's seat is to the left of Rumi.
Once the hostess finishes up, she flashes another professional smile before informing them, “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”
As soon as she leaves, both Zoey and Rumi let out a stabilizing breath.
“Fifteen minutes, huh?” Zoey muses. Rumi can already hear the nervous tapping of her foot on the floor.
“Not too long. It’ll be here before you know it,” she reassures.
-
It does not.
In fact, thirty minutes pass by and their phones are eerily silent. Zoey, poor thing is picking the dinner rolls into tiny pieces on her plate. Meanwhile, Rumi is just staring at her phone face up on the table.
“Should we text her?” Zoey asks.
Rumi shrugs, grabbing her phone,“We can.”
R: Everything okay? We’re enjoying the bread!
Nothing.
-
Rumi tries to hold it together.
Forty-five minutes later and they haven’t received a thing. Their poor waiter has been dropping not so subtle hints to order, but Zoey and Rumi are insisting on waiting.
They try to excuse the delay, but it sounds weak on their lips as the minutes pass.
She tries desperately to enjoy herself in this snotty ass restaurant. They’ve dressed outside of their professor clothes and look lethal in elegant attire. Zoey let down her space buns for the evening, leaving her hair in waves just under her shoulders. She’s wearing a low cut, sleeveless dress that hugs her frame. A simple pendant hangs from her neck, a silver turtle with a few diamonds that Rumi got her one Christmas.
Rumi’s wearing a matching black pantsuit, just as low cut that ends at her sternum.
She looks at Zoey in the candlelight, her golden shimmery makeup highlighted. She feels her heart sink as she watches the disappointment sink in Zoey’s face.
And it pisses her off.
Three weeks of their busy schedules wasted, pining after a ghost on a screen, all for nothing.
She felt that silly, girlish hope for nothing.
“Fuck this, I think we should get out of here,” Rumi says abruptly.
Zoey’s eyes widen, not expecting the F-bomb.
“Why?”
“I know we said we’d enjoy the night but I can’t help but feel… Sour? I'd rather just go home at this point.”
Zoey frowns at her, “We've already been here for almost an hour, babe. This is one of the toughest places to get into in the city, and you just want to bail? At least let us try the wine first.”
“It is nice, yes. But it isn't us. For all we know the main dish is probably a singular bite, we would have to stop at the damn gas station on the way home for some snacks anyways.”
“It's an experience,” Zoey defends weakly. “That's what the Google review said.”
“Let's face it Zo,” Rumi sighs, “We've been played for fools. We look silly.”
Zoey’s eyes widen comically, breath stolen from her throat. She looks over Rumi’s shoulder like danger danger danger–
A low, out of breath voice cuts through her hiss of what towards Zoey.
“If anyone asked me, I’d say you two look far from foolish.”
Rumi turns her head slowly towards the sound, dread seeping in like water in soil.
And what do ya know.
Kang fucking Mira strolls to their table, stopping right at the empty seat between them.
Her face is flushed, and her forehead is shiny with a tinge of sweat. Despite that, she smirks at them with a level of cool that is almost ethereal.
“Hey, I’m Mira.”