Fiction: Endings…or new beginnings…

Is it the end? I look up at him, eyes brimming with tears. He looks away, unable to bear the intensity of my gaze. And then, as if composing himself, he takes a deep breath and meets my eyes again. “No. There can never be an end to us. This is a storm we have to endure. Alone.” I know he is right. I can feel his pain in his eyes. I draw myself close to him and kiss his deeply. He returns my kiss with an intensity that’s hard to define. As if he knows the next twelve months are going to be difficult, at times almost impossible to survive. With a deep sigh, I turn on my heels and walk out of the room.

Time flies, whether you’re having fun or not. It’s almost eight months later that I recall his words, as I see his name flash on my phone screen. I realise with a jolt that these months have been tough but not impossible to survive. I wonder if I should answer. And then it hits me. This is love. Whether we’re in touch or not, whether we talk to each other or not, that emotion will never change. I pick up. “Can we meet? This evening?”

Later that evening, we sit next to each other at the coffee shop. He reaches over and draws me closer to him. I let him. My body instinctively snuggles against him as if it’s never forgotten what it feels like to be with him. “The storm is over”. His words are like balm to a bruised heart. I turn to face him. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me again. After eight months. This time it’s different. The kiss is reassuring. It’s deeply affectionate. And it’s full of promise. Promise of a better future. Of happiness. Of love.