Issue 21 – The Mathematics of a Maybe

Or: I Was Never Good at Maths Anyway

I couldn’t help but wonder…

How many opportunities for flirting have I missed because I was too busy calculating the odds?

There I am, feeling good. The outfit is working, the hair has decided to cooperate, the iced matcha is in hand, and maybe I've even had one of those rare days where I look in the mirror and think, Oh? We look… good today.

Confidence is high.

And then I see him.

And suddenly, I'm doing maths.

There's a look. Not just any look. A look. The kind where you make eye contact for five or six seconds. Maybe longer, although at that point you do have to wonder whether you're flirting or staring at him with the terrifying intensity of someone who has just made eye contact with a Weeping Angel.

And nobody wants to be that gay.

So you look away, then back again. Just quickly. Like you've dropped something. Nothing on the floor, obviously. Just your dignity.

Then it happens again. Eye contact. A tiny smile. Maybe a raised eyebrow. And suddenly I'm thinking: Is he gay? Is he straight? Is he bi? Is he just looking at me because I'm standing directly in front of him? Does he think I'm attractive, or does he think I'm staring? Does he have a boyfriend? Is that a wedding ring?

No, it's not.

Wait.

Is that a ring?

Oh God.

And before you know it, the moment has passed. He's got on the Tube, and I'm still standing there conducting a full forensic investigation into a six-second interaction that probably meant absolutely nothing.

But what if it did?

That's the thing, isn't it? The endless what ifs.

What if he's not queer? What if he is, but he's not interested? What if I make him uncomfortable? What if he has a partner? What if he thinks I'm weird? What if I say something and immediately regret it for the next seven to ten business days?

Rejection is, of course, the obvious answer. Nobody likes it. But sometimes I wonder if we're so afraid of the possibility of a no that we forget there's another possibility sitting quietly beside it.

A yes.

What if the what if was actually good?

What if he was waiting for you to say something too? What if that look wasn't accidental? What if the universe wasn't sending a sign, but you were simply having a moment of mutual attraction in a pub, on the Tube, in a coffee shop, or somewhere equally inconvenient to your emotional stability?

Maybe flirting is just an equation.

Eye contact + smile + confidence ÷ fear of rejection = ?

I was never particularly good at maths, which might explain a lot.

Because perhaps I've spent too much time trying to calculate the outcome instead of enjoying the process. Maybe we don't need to know the answer before we ask the question. Maybe the point isn't to know whether someone will say yes. Maybe it's just to be brave enough to find out.

And honestly, I think there's something quite romantic about that.

Not the rejection. Obviously. Let's not get carried away.

But the possibility.

The tiny, ridiculous, terrifying possibility that the person you've been looking at across the room might actually be looking back. That maybe your outfit was working. Maybe your vibe was immaculate. Maybe you really did look good that day.

And maybe, just maybe, someone noticed.

So perhaps next time, I'll do something about it. I'll smile. I'll say hello. I'll make a joke. I'll ask the question. Or, at the very least, I'll stop pretending I've dropped something on the floor every thirty seconds.

Because maybe flirting isn't about getting the equation right. Maybe it's about accepting that you might get the answer wrong, and knowing that sometimes the only way to find out if it's a plus is to finally stop doing the maths.

And just like that…

I realised I might not be bad at flirting after all.

I might just be overthinking the working out.