Lovers

I wanted to try and write a little bit of fiction for my blog. I started with the prompt "You've been staring out of the window for the last 3 hours. Why?" and ended up writing the story below. Please enjoy!

“Excuse me. I noticed you’ve been staring out the window all day. Is there something wrong?” I didn’t comprehend the words at first. On hearing the question, I realised I had been here for longer than I had planned. The sun was about to set; closing time must have been coming up. But I need just one more moment, I thought. Maybe she’ll show up.

Juliet and I had known each other since the first week of university. We first met when we both got locked in the library; closing time was over and the attendants didn’t warn us that the building was about to close. When we asked our friends in senior years if that had ever happened to them, everyone said it should never happen. Fate must have been with us. From there on, our friendship was sustained by laughter and fun and learning and crises. University was turbulent, gruelling, at times; having a friend made it all better.

We spent the night in the library speaking about our lives. Little by little we saw how similar we were: we both studied art, we both wanted to learn a foreign language, we both wanted have our first kiss under the moonlight. Looking back, many of our dreams came true. We graduated with honours. We learned French. We had our first kiss under a frosty February new moon. We went outside specifically just so that we could fulfil our dream from the library on the night we first met. We quickly back inside and made tea and watched comedies until tiredness fell upon us both.

We were used to late nights, but the night we kissed was to be our last together. “I have a residency in Europe.” Juliet had said weeks before. There was one more night before both our lives would be forever different: separate, for the first time in five years. We learned a language together – we learned each other’s language – but no word could be heard over the thousands of miles that would be between us. Texting was a simulacra, so we decided to wait until we saw each other again to speak.

“We agreed to meet here after her residency was over,” I said to the barista who was lovely but also a bit more prying than I would like. I found myself relaying the whole story because I realised I needed an ear, and perhaps because I wanted to share enough details so that someone might say everything would be fine – that maybe we could be together. The barista turned out to be a good listener. She seemed to hold onto every word I said.

I knew there was a chance she would find a boyfriend abroad, that she might never come back. That prospect was echoing in my head for the last three hours. I might never see her again. There was a sharp truth that I may have seen her for the last time years ago. Our story could already have been written even though I had hoped for many more chapters.

“If you’re talking about a girl called Emily, she came in first thing today. She said I was to give this to someone called John.”, said the barista. “I have been too busy remembering how to steam milk – I just started – that the description she gave of you went way over my head. But I guess this solves the mystery. Here.” She handed over a note, written in a beautiful typeface. Calligraphy had been one of the classes Juliet and I had taken together.

“John, meet me under the moonlight outside the library. I’ll be waiting.”