He had never been late. For all these years that I have known him, he had always come right on time.
We had decided to meet the next morning after what it seemed to be ages. I had hoped for it to be everything I wanted it to be. I spent the entire night figuring out what to wear and scanning through the menu of the restaurant I had chosen for us. Nothing could go wrong.
I went to my safer haven, the internet, to tweet about how I was feeling – scared, nauseous, excited. Though no one reads my tweets as such, it felt like writing into the world. I had hoped for empathy.
I thought I should sleep early so that I look fresh and at my best the next day, but I was too anxious.
Finally, I fell into a deep reverie as I dreamt about his face, his voice, and the fact that we were going to meet after so long.
I woke up before the alarm went off and rushed my breakfast into my queasy stomach. Oh, what a day it was going to be.
With reddened cheeks and a broad grin, I got dressed and rushed to my laptop. While I opened twitter, I opened another window, and there he was across the screen – his eyes looking into mine.
I shut the tab of Twitter to ignore the spoilers and focus on the lead guy who stood in the poster of the new season of my favourite TV show. It was finally time.