Hello Again
A story of reunion, restraint, and the love that survives the distance between two lives.
She looks at him, and the space between them stretches until time itself seems to hesitate. Have seconds turned into minutes, perhaps even hours? She wonders if he is still thinking the same things about her, the things he once said aloud. Words he meant. Words she still cannot believe ever came from his mouth. It had been easier before them, yes, but they were what she wanted to hear. Afterward, she laughs at herself. Isn’t that what they always say? Be careful what you wish for.
He looks at her and thinks she is beautiful, and he cannot understand how he ever managed to be away from her for so long. Her blue eyes meet his, and the impact nearly unseats him. He feels as if he should sit down, if only to steady himself. God, what had he been thinking? Youth make the mind reckless, absent. Now he feels the jealousy he once joked about, though there is no reason for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He wants—badly—to brush his hand across her cheek, to kiss her. Instead, he settles for a friendly embrace. He pulls her close, and she responds kindly. His hand finds her hair, and she whispers something on his shoulders about how good it is to see him again. To her, he feels strong and familiar, inviting her in a way that makes her want to stay exactly where she is.
When she pulls back, she smiles, but neither of them lets go. Words are exchanged, perhaps it’s good to see you, you look well, or maybe even I want you, but neither of them is sure what has actually been said. They are too busy looking at each other to care. How many years have it been? They wonder, but they do not count. Time before this moment doesn’t matter. The only time that matters is now.
They feel young again, the way they once did when they were alone together. There hadn’t been much of that time—there should have been more—but regret demands too much attention, and neither of them is willing to give it. There is only so much time before he has to leave again, before she returns to a life that does not include him.
They talk. He hears her laughing, something he has never forgotten. She notices the way he nods when she speaks, the way he always has. They reminisce, trading memories: smiles, gestures, moments. A day. A drive. The way she once leaned closer to him because he wanted her to. It had been sweet, an easy flirtation that made her smile. Then he had kissed her, and she had known, with startling clarity, that only he could ever make her feel whole, that only he could summon those butterflies so effortlessly.
That night had been dark; the light came from how desperately she wanted him.
Now, again, he feels foolish. She feels overwhelmed, clinging to him as if it might slow the passing of time. He notices and adjusts, grounding the moment, making it about her.
When they part, it is over, not their friendship, not what they feel for each other, but the day. Their time together has ended. No one will ever fill this space between them; whatever exists here is larger than distance.
She asks him to close his eyes. He hesitates, jokes, but does it anyway. He always does what she asks.
She kisses him.
God, it is a sweet reminder. The touch of her lips against him is both comfort and punishment, a sharp reminder of everything he has lost. When she pulls away, he looks at her. Neither of them mentions the kiss. They don’t need to. It will live quietly between them, another unspoken truth.
No one will ever have me the way you do, she thinks.
No one will ever have me—only you
.