I’m not entirely sure what happened. I woke up at my usual time, half-past six, and stood up and stretched before heading to the bathroom. I was in the shower, thinking about how lovely my day was going to be, “I’m so happy,” I thought. “I’m so blessed”, “He is constantly thinking of me”, or whatever I was training my brain to think that week. Gratitude was the new high, you know. I wrapped myself in my towel and I heard a knock on my front door. I panicked and unlocked the bathroom door, grabbed my bathrobe, and ran down the stairs.
It was him.
It was hardly seven am on a Wednesday morning and there he was, after five months of silence.
I just stared at him.
He, in turn, stared back.