I was sophomore when I knew the girl. She was pale, slender, quiet, and always used smile as her armor. Everyone talked about the girl.

“Seen that freshwoman?” said my friend, “She’s cute.”

“The bone china among the earthenware?” I said, “Not sure if she blends in.”

Yet she did, with her own way. The girl could tackle any subject well no matter interested or not. There was only one exception, computer programming, the area I had no peer.

“Can you debug my program?” asked the girl.

“Only if you come to Starker’s Bach recital with me,” I said, just wanted to see how the girl says no.

“Deal,” said the girl, with bright smile.

“It is so lonely,” said the girl after BWV 1008, “with only the cello.”

“It is solitude, my dear,” I said, “and you don’t need others to spoil it.”

I enjoyed arts, particularly visual, an enthusiasm the girl tolerated but not quite perceived. The girl enjoyed academics, particularly the awards and achievements, an ambition I respected but never pursued. I tried to show her the world I lived in yet the girl would rather weave the mirror's magic sights into a web with colours gay.

My friends thought we were a couple, a concept I felt uneasy to bear.

“But you are,” they said.

“Maybe today,” I said, “but tomorrow is out of reach,” I concluded. “Let’s drink only for the moment,”

“Hear, hear”

“Do you love me?” asked the girl.

"The right question, I think, is ‘do we feel happy now?’” I replied.

The girl needed a knight forever kneeled to his lady. I loved to ride out of Camelot and sing by the river.

“Where were you,” said the girl one day, “when we had such good time?”

“You were the lady of Shalott, “ I said, “and you should not look down to Camelot.”

The girl left, causing as much turbulence as she came. A good Margarita only needed the best Tequila and nothing else, I thought, as I poured the Extra Añejo into a shot glass.