He hadn’t mentioned his interest in wooden dolls. Not until our fifth date, when he first brought me to his dim apartment. “They’re a nice decoration piece, are they not?” he said, pointing to the shelves on either side of his bedroom. The dolls had doughy faces and big, glassy eyes. Their cheeks were blushed with red, and their hair was just a few strands of yarn hanging over their round heads.

     “Did you make these?”

     “I guess you could say that.” He smiled. Oh, how I miss that smile.

     The rest of the date was like all the others. We watched whatever scary movie we could find that day. I could’ve sworn time sped up; two hours went by in twenty minutes. I didn’t want to leave, but he promised we would go out again the next day.

     Our next date wouldn’t be for another week.

     He later apologized, claiming he had other things going on. I forgave him without a second thought. We went out a few more times, each time farther apart from the last. One week became two weeks, then three, then a month. Same apology each time, until he no longer cared to explain. And before I knew it, I’d forgotten how gentle his hand felt around my shoulder. How his eyes lit up whenever he called me beautiful. How he always laughed at my dumb jokes. 

     In the increasing downtime between dates, memories of him would play on repeat in my head. He was the only thing in the world I cared about. Did he feel the same way about me? I felt bad even asking that. I know it sounds cliché, and I know that saying it sounds cliché is even more cliché, but the two of us had something special. I wasn’t gonna give that up. I had to talk to him.

     The night before our twelfth date, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror for hours, mouthing the words I would say to him, feeling how they tasted. In the mirror, my cheeks looked redder than usual. Why was I so stressed? I laid down on my bed and switched off the bedside lamp. It’ll all be okay, I told myself. I nibbled away at my fingernails. They had a bitter, earthy flavor. Almost like wood.

     When I awoke the next morning, it was like I had teleported into his apartment. An oaky scent now filled my nose. I tried to let out a noise. Nothing. Like my mouth wasn’t even there. I tried to move my head to see my surroundings, but all I could manage was simple glances left and right. That’s when I saw the other wooden dolls sitting next to me on the shelf, unmoving and innocent-looking. Just like me.