Fiction: Love?

“Love you”, you say, preparing to hang up and settle down for the night. I freeze momentarily at the words. Love? I quickly compose myself and smile. Good night my love. Yes. Maybe it really is love. Maybe this is what love feels like, when I’m not intellectualising it and analysing my every response. Maybe this is how easy it’s supposed to be. I’m not sure when I drift off into a fitful sleep with these thoughts swirling around in my head.

The next day is uneventful. You’re unusually busy. Your number is unreachable. Except for one text in the morning, you’ve been entirely incommunicado. As I wrap up my work for the day, I find myself getting restless. I check for notifications, just like I have every hour for the last six hours. Nothing. The doorbell rings. Who’s this now?

I open the door. I freeze. My eyes must be playing tricks. I blink several times. I shake my head as if to clear it of the fog. You’re still there, this time looking at me with a very amused expression. “Hi baby! Are you going to make me wait at your doorstep forever?”

The haze lifts. It’s replaced by a joy. An inexplicable joy at having you back. You step in and take me in your arms. Your lips seek mine almost involuntarily. I kiss you deeply. Your arms come around me as your fingers seek my curves. I press my body against you, not able to take one more inch of distance between us. And you gather me into your arms in an embrace that’s both loving and lustful. We both know it. There’s going to be very little sleep tonight.