The hands on the clock ticked as we sat at the wonky blue table we call ‘ours’. We ordered our favourite drink with an extra dollop of cream, and ordered yours too.
We were a little early, nerves fluttered in us like bats in a cave and the only way to calm them was to move our bodies, and we didn’t want to be late, so we walked straight here – the café where we first met.
The rich smells of melted chocolate and coffee were the same, as if nothing had changed. And for a moment we let ourselves taste a slither of hope – it was sweet. Sharp.
Time turned. Faces were replaced but none of them were yours. Still we waited …
I wanted to tell him you weren’t coming. I wanted to tell him you were never going to. But to tell him would mean to rip his raw heart out of his chest and I didn’t want to be the one to bring him that devastation. I wanted to warn him – in fact, I tried to warn him, but his fate was pre-written: printed on the pages that I turn...
