Five…four…three…two…one. You wonder again why she is still not here. It’s thirty minutes past since she should be. ‘We still have time’, you think. ‘We could still be.’
You dart your thoughts towards the most sunny scenario you can come up with, but you try not to overthink; and it brings a shy smile to your face.
But your very same train of thought brings you to the last time you’ve seen each other: she was sitting there, lying on the desk. You remembered how she slowly became pale, your hand running through her hair trying to ease the pain she said was there. You examine and savor every second you’re together. She was still smiling then, you think again – only this time you were starting to convince yourself that she did. And that she wasn’t forced to do that even if it wasn’t oblivious that she struggled at some point.
She was quite and you felt the oddness, too.
You miss the quirkiness. You miss the laughter. You missed the stories and rants even if they could be annoying at times.
You continued to analyze the last few minutes that passed two days ago.
You think again, re-evaluated yourself if you could’ve done something wrong. You come up with none and hoped that it was really just circumstances we cannot control.
You tried to think of what was there two days ago: her smile, the awkward stillness that you agreed to be just fine after all.
Then the absence of today grabbed you too soon.
But you hoped that someone would finally open up the door.