I’m In Love With Juliette.
“I’m in love with Juliette.”
Cyrillic Sping, age 28, just moved to the city.
He’s tall — maybe nearly 6-foot — and has short, bushy dark brown hair. He likes to wear metal rings, and knows how to make it look good. He’s toned, but not too buff. He has tattoos on his chest, which was always enough to make conversation.
“I’m confused,” his roommate questioned again. “Who is Juliette?”
But Cyrillic paced the room while on his phone, texting. His roommate sat in the background sipping his coffee. It was only 9 a.m. — a time way too early to be this confused, his roommate thought.
“Oh my god,” his roommate spoke again. “Don’t tell me you’re like Joaquin Phoenix in that movie where he falls in love with like an AI?!”
“Dude—” Cyrillic finally spoke, laughing as he sat down, still on his phone. “No!” He briefly looked up, second guessing himself “N-No, at least… I don’t think so?”
“Hahaha!” his roommate held his stomach and raised his coffee so it wouldn’t spill. “Dude, you’re totally Joaquin Phoenix.”
“I’m not gonna lie though,” he continued. “That movie wasn’t terrible. I mean, when Samantha left. Whew-“ He pretended to tear- “Water works.”
“F—k you,” Cyrillic laughed. “But nah man. I met her at my dry cleaner.”
His roommate raised his brow and took one last sip of his drink before setting it down. He motioned to the floor and said, “Well, let’s hear it, Romeo.”
It was on Friday.
Cyrillic hadn’t done his laundry in over two weeks. It was getting bad — like gross bad. He walked out of his apartment and searched “nearby laundromats and dry cleaners,” leading him just a few blocks over on 87th Street.
The dry cleaner looked modern and had a good amount of people coming in and out of the place.
“Let’s see,” Cyrillic mumbled.
As soon as he walked inside, he was greeted by a woman with thin glasses and wavy caramel hair that grazed over it. She had a bright smile.
“And that’s when I met her,” Cyrillic told his roommate, ending his story. “Juliette.”
But her name wasn’t Juliette – it was Becca, and she didn’t even know how to properly wash clothes yet. She was just working the counter. (It was also her second week living in the city, and on her own).
“And…?” Cyrillic mimicked.
“Yup,” he kicked back. “No further details needed.”
“What the-“ his roommate sat forward. “Did you even get her number?”
Cyrillic laughed, looking at his phone once again, “No shit.” He messed with his hair, “Who do you think I’ve been texting all morning?”
“Let me see that,” his roommate charged and grabbed his phone before finishing the sentence.
He scrolled through the one-sided message and only found photos of Cyrillic. With his shirt lifted. Tight jeans. Shown in. Every. Angle.
“What the hell is this?”
“What?” Cyrillic snatched his phone back. “She said she wanted to see the clothes I wanted tailored… so…,” he shrugged. “I showed her.”
“I-I,” his roommate laughed. “I don’t think that’s what she meant, dude.” He laid back onto the couch, “You do know it’s because she works at the dry cleaners, right?” Cyrillic was back on his phone, “And not because she’s into you-“ he wasn’t listening “-you know that, right?”
“Then why is she typing right now?”
At the dry cleaners
“T-This guy is sending me photos of his body…,” Becca — not Juliette — fixed her glasses, tapping the screen to start a message. “H-His torso to be specific!”
Her co-worker came over, “Oh my god.” She grabbed the phone, “You’re not joking!! Hahaha!”
“W-What should I do?… Say?”
Her co-worker finished her laugh, “Wait, aren’t you the only one who can see these messages?”
“Dude,” her co-worker nudged her. “He’s into you.”
Becca’s phone vibrated before she could even deny it. Her co-worker leaned in because, at this point, she was now a part of it too. The only thing is: the rest of the company will find out about everything in less than an hour (because of her co-worker’s big mouth).
You just can’t make this stuff up.
From: Cyrillic Sping
Hi Juliette. Great meeting you the other day. As requested… here are pics. Let me know if you think this is something we can work on. 😏
“J-Juliette…?” Becca questioned, pulling away from her phone.
“Oh my god,” her co-worker grabbed her shoulder. “He thinks you’re Juliette!!”
“And he’s in love with Juliette!!”
At Cyrillic’s apartment
“Ah yeah, that’ll work on her.”