six a.m.

It’s cold out. Not quite winter, not yet appropriate for puffy down jackets and sleeping weekends away, but chilly nonetheless. The outside air seeps in from the window, cracked open late last night. A red-gold leaf flutters down from a brittle branch, landing on the worn wooden flower box full of arid soil and long-wilted daisies, now wrapped many times over with threads of ivy.

From its place in the dining room, the old grandfather clock chimes once. Then again. Then four more times, each echoing longer than the last. Once the noise has fully faded away, the woman rises from her place on the mattress, where she’s been alone with her thoughts since dawn. Glancing back at the bed, where the man’s long legs are practically dragging him out from under the blankets into consciousness, she slips out the bedroom door, grabbing her robe from its hook on the wall.

sixty minutes later

When the man finally makes his way downstairs with bleary eyes, clearly having just risen, he’s greeted by his chipper girlfriend and a mouthwatering stack of pancakes.

I couldn’t sleep, she explains. Too much to think about.

He shelves that in his mind, making a note to inquire about her stress-induced insomnia tomorrow. But not today. Today is for celebrating them, celebrating six months since they’d finally confessed their feelings to each other. So he accepts the pancakes and ambles over to the couch, the woman right behind him carrying her own plate, the scruffy white dog on their heels.

Shortly after breakfast, the pair slips out the front door. They drive for hours, cracking jokes and blasting their favorite songs at an almost deafening volume. She slumps over in her seat, clutching her chest laughing, as the man attempts to mimic the high-pitched tone of the breathy voice floating through the radio.

--

When they finally arrive home, he dives into the backseat, searching for the bag of food they’d picked up during their adventure. In the kitchen, she roots through it, pulling out a pizza and searching his face for confirmation.

They forgo plates, immediately digging into their meal the second it emerges from the old toaster oven. Despite being a bit blackened on the edges, it’s chewy and delicious - well worth the burnt tongues they earn.

They fall asleep hours later, an errant limb poking out from under the blankets, reruns of their favorite TV show playing on the laptop at the foot of the bed.

six hours later

It’s not- don’t- I’m fine, really!

No, you’re not. That much is obvious, I just don’t- Who are you trying to convince? There’s a silence then, her shock overruling any further remarks she may have had. She can feel herself begin to spiral, feel the air leaving her lungs.

Why do you even care so much?

Because it scares me to see you so worked up! Please, just talk to me! I’m here for you, I promise. Their conversation lulls, the room suddenly silent save for the humming of the ice maker.

Look, I-I’m just… scared, I guess.

Scared of what?

That- I’m falling in love with you. That quiets both of them for good, a shocked expression on his face. Neither person dares to speak, a stark contrast to the screaming match taking place moments before.

She expects him to say it back. Of course she does - they’ve been together for six months. And one day. But he remains silent and still, simply staring into nothing. Eventually, she turns on her heels, promising to wake him up if she’s having trouble settling in. Assuming he’ll follow behind her, she curls up under the covers once more.

He doesn’t move a muscle.

six weeks later

She’s not sure where he’s disappeared to. He had come to pick up his belongings hours ago. Now, he’s tucked into a closet somewhere, presumably packing up six months’ worth of memories into his faded blue suitcase.

He’s been sitting on the floor for an hour, going through the box of polaroids stashed on the top shelf of their closet. Reminiscing had proved to be a worse idea than he’d thought, the mere idea of moving out and leaving her so much harder than it had been that morning. Eventually, after storing the box of photos, he fills his suitcase and drags it down the stairs.

The second he leaves their- her apartment, she reminds herself, it’s as if reality sets in. The six months they’d spent as friends, six months as lovers, completely gone in six days. Her eyes blurred with tears, she trudges upstairs, clutching the railing like a lifeline. When she reaches the closet, she doesn’t even notice that multiple photos are missing from their box of mementos, tucked inside his pocket for safekeeping.

​six years later

She knew it was him the second he stepped inside, his perfectly tousled brown hair and ocean blue eyes the exact same as when they’d first entranced her all those years ago. She could feel his presence, too, their electric chemistry completely palpable for all the cafe patrons. She kept her head down, actively trying not to be spotted, to dispel the awkward conversation sure to follow such an interaction.

But he notices her, too. Despite being huddled in the corner, her face partially obscured by her reflective silver laptop, perched precariously on the edge of her table, she catches his eye almost immediately. If he’s being honest with himself, there might have been a reason he came here, to their favorite cafe, six years after their breakup. For reminiscing, or for a wave of nostalgia - he’s not sure; but he’s happy he came. Because there she is. In the corner.

He allows himself to become carried away, to daydream that maybe, just maybe, she’s here for the same reason he is. For them.

So he steps forward, mounting the stairs up to the bench where she’s perched, and calls out her name.

And her head lifts from her laptop.

And her clear blue eyes meet his.