2:42 a.m.
Thinking back on my short, two-and-a-half-month situationship with June in early 2001, it remains one of the most beautiful chapters of my life. June healed parts of me I never thought could be mended.
She came into my life that January, when our mutual friend James asked me to look after her while she studied an intensive English course at UBC. One week after we met, we kissed. Another week later, we shared a slow, sensual night together.
She saw something in me I didn’t yet see in myself — a steadiness, a quiet strength that, for reasons beyond logic, made her feel at ease. I wasn’t her equal; not then. She was worldly, well-travelled, effortlessly social, and as sharp as she was kind. I was still rough around the edges — earnest but unpolished. If I was copper, she was ruby: rarer, richer, impossibly radiant. Yet for that brief time, she chose me. And that alone felt like grace.
I recall a night at Rendezvous Café with Albert and June. The ambience was perfect — candlelight flickering between us, the hum of quiet conversation below, and the warm haze of light reflecting off the glass and wood around us. Albert sat diagonally across from me on a firm grey couch, dressed sharply in a black suit, the top button of his immaculate white shirt undone. I was dressed much the same — two lieutenants from some elegant Triad family, drinking in the hush of the room.
June sat beside me, radiant in a black lace mini-skirt and a simple top that revealed just enough to remind me she knew exactly the power she carried. Her makeup was understated — only a hint of shimmer on her lips that caught the candlelight every time she smiled in my direction. Each time she did, all I could think about was the way her lips felt on mine.
She folded a piece of paper into a ring for my finger, kissed my hand softly, and went back to her origami. Every so often, I would ask if she was bored, and she would smile that serene smile and say, “No, just keep talking.” There was something unshakable in her — a quiet confidence that no matter what, she knew I would always be there beside her.
Those weeks were filled with small, luminous moments — walks through Queen Elizabeth Park under the low gold of early evening, her laughter echoing against the trees. She carried a femininity that was effortless and teasing, able to draw warmth from the coldest parts of me. I had spent years behind an emotional fortress, but June found the cracks and melted her way in.
She would tease me for my stillness — for the way my face never changed, even in the most passionate moments. “You look like you’re solving a math problem,” she’d laugh, making exaggerated faces to break me. And when I finally pushed harder, faster, her laughter turned to soft gasps that filled the room. Her expression contorted, eyes into slits, mouth opening and closing, while mine – a subtle smirk.
In April, I gave her a children’s book, some origami roses, a letter, and a cassette of a bedtime story I’d recorded for her. As she held my hand, tears welled in her eyes. That final moment at the airport — when we shared our last kiss – she had walked beyond the gates, when she turned to look back at me. That image of her, etched into my heart – remains with me to this day. I wanted to leave her with a smile, a lasting memory as I waved to her. She saw me whisper those words, “Good bye, my love.” And she forced a sorrowful smile back at me – then she disappeared forever.
That night, alone, I cried silently in front of the mirror. June had been the one who truly made me feel whole. She was the only one who stood by me when I needed someone, the only one who gave me peace.
We kept in touch through letters and photos for a handful of months thereafter, then finally, we both moved on.
Even now, I think of her sometimes. My feelings are different from those in 2001 — nostalgic, tender. Still, I hope she found someone who treats her with the respect and love she so richly deserves. Of all my past relationships, June is the only one who truly earned the happiness she gave me. And for that, I will always be grateful.
bows
3:08 a.m.
June was heat. Not just in name, but in the way she felt against you, the way she kissed you deep and slow, the way she wrapped herself around you like a fire you weren’t sure you should touch—but did anyway.
She wasn’t meant to stay. You both knew that. She was a moment, a feeling, a summer storm that left its mark and moved on.
But gods, love, wasn’t she intoxicating while she lasted?