I fell in love on a first date without saying a word

Why movies make for the best first dates

The first time we met, he asked me to the movies. For some reason, movies as first dates have a bad reputation. People say you cannot get to know someone when you are sitting silently in the dark for two hours. But I think that’s exactly what makes them so good.

Whether you are both desperately excited to see the movie or hardly interested at all, the magic of a movie for a first date still works. If it is the former, the two of you become enthralled by the same thing at the same time. You laugh together, tense together, wait for the same resolution. By the time the credits roll, you already have an intimate shared experience--which is exactly what you want with this cute stranger, no? If it is the latter, as it was for us, the movie gives you something I personally find even better: a long stretch of verbal silence, and therefore plenty of room to think.

The movie he chose for us was Crazy Rich Asians. It was perfectly light-hearted enough to give half my attention to, since the other half was on him. I took turns watching the blown up scene on the wall-sized screen, and letting my sight drift to my right.

He took up his chair confidently. A slight slouch of his back, and his legs stretching a comfortable distance apart. His knee would have grazed mine if I had allowed myself the same relaxed posture. I did not. For the time being, only my eyes were brave enough to make the trip across the armrest between us.

That is another reason movies make such good first dates. When you sit across from someone at dinner, the race to fill empty silence leaves no room for curiosity to grow. It’s a rapid-fire of questions that are much better discovered instead of asked outright. But in the theater, you’re allowed to simply sit beside someone and wonder about them.

And I wondered about him.

Every minute that went by, the space we shared felt more intimate. Questions about this stranger bubbled up inside me. I found myself wondering if the musk rising off him was his signature scent. It was of teak and something sweet that I couldn’t quite place, but loved. The scent pulled me close enough to see a small scar tracing one of his knuckles. I imagined later how he would regale me with a clumsy, childhood story as explanation. But most of all, I wanted to know what he felt in that moment, and if this undeniable pull I felt toward him was mutual.

Throughout the movie, I could feel a tension mounting between us, and from it came increasingly elaborate ideas about how I could ease it. Maybe if I move my arm onto the armrest, he will move his too. Or should I leave my hand palm-up—a classic, but maybe too obvious? I mean, was obvious necessarily bad?

As I flipped through these imagined scenes, I felt all the symptoms of a developing crush, and reveled in them. So much so, I giggled at myself for paying more attention to the movie playing in my head instead of the one playing on screen. During climax, I reflexively glanced toward him with a sweet earnestness. The way he matched my gaze felt like the movie in my head would have a happy ending too.

We continued like that, stealing glances and retreating to the screen whenever one of us got caught. Look, retreat. Look again.

After a handsome, half-smile from him, I finally had the courage to leave my arm where our last glance had been. He immediately shifted his body toward me, but only slightly, leaning his elbow against the ledge of the armrest and finally closing the gap between us.

My body sizzled at the contact. There were fireworks onscreen, and for a moment they seemed to be going off inside me too.

It was during the wedding ceremony that he held my hand. The wedding in the movie, that is, though the cheeky, teen excitement inside me was enough to ring bells,

I liked the way his hand did not go slack in mine. We both tightened our fingers around the other’s, and I could feel the back of his hand beneath my fingertips. They traced the divots of his knuckles, and settled next to that curious little scar. He shared this seemingly small part of him, but through it, I felt as though the whole of him were holding the whole of me.

The credits rolled, but neither of us moved. Instead we sat there, simmering in the impossible familiarity grown between two strangers. All without saying a word.

That is what I think people misunderstand about movie dates. Getting to know someone does not happen exclusively through conversation. Some of the clearest signs of compatibility are entirely wordless.

I learned on this first date what grew to be the core of our love: we shared the same off-brand humor. It wasn’t during the scenes built for comedic relief, or any of Akwafina’s lines. Instead, I’d hear his chuckle echo mine during times that the rest of the theater was silent.

We got to separate the nerves of talking to each other from the nerves of simply being next to each other, and take those intimacies one at a time. And after sharing those hours of forced silence, both of us were brimming with things to say. Enough to fill the entire two mile walk to his one-bed that only a few months later I’d call home.

That movie was the start to a whirlwind romance that will forever leave a sweet taste in my mouth.

So when it comes to first dates, don’t talk. At least, not the whole time. Sit beside them and let the tension (if any) build. See what makes them laugh. Flirt wordlessly and see who makes the first move. There will be plenty of time to learn their favorite color, where they grew up, and what they do for work. Instead, find out what’s important: whether the two of you together creates that *spark* that can’t be put into words.

ty for reading.

xo,

A.

or maybe..