Nothing important.
But my body didn’t know the difference yet.
I exhaled shakily and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
I needed grounding. Something physical. Something that smelled like normal life.
I walked to the corner café and ordered a latte, perched on a barstool, letting the bustle of the place wrap around me. The hiss of the espresso machine. The chatter of tourists. The barista asking customers for their names.
But even here, even in this bright, safe place, I kept imagining a presence at my back. A weight. A gaze.
Not a threat.
Not danger.
Something more complicated.
More intimate.
Someone who would stand too close by design.
Someone who would know exactly what to do with a woman who couldn’t admit what she wanted out loud.
I swallowed hard, my fingertips cold against the warm cup.
What was wrong with me?
Why now?
Because you asked for him.
The thought came like a whisper from the darkest part of me.
I hated how right it felt.
I left the café and walked home, trying to shake off the feeling. Trying to breathe normally. Trying to imagine a life where sending that letter didn’t tilt the axis of my morning.
But as soon as my condo came into view, my pace slowed.
The walkway.
The steps.
The front door.
The place he’d eventually stand.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe next week.
Maybe never.
The uncertainty should’ve calmed me.
Instead it tightened something in my chest.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, my eyes lingering on the threshold longer than necessary. Like I expected a shift in the air. Like I expected a shadow.
