At the park gates, I pause. What if I don’t recognise him? What if he decides this is a bad idea, or ignores me?
Let’s meet, right here, in exactly one year’s time.
What if he’s forgotten?
I almost turn away, my feet shuffling backwards until I bump into a young family and have to mutter my apologies.
Stupid woman, just go in. If he’s not there, I’ve simply had a nice walk. If he is…
If he is… I guess we’ll have some kind of awkward chat. He might explain that he fell in love with someone else during our separation, but he’d love to introduce me to her. Or he might stare at me with horror and release he never loved me. He might make his excuses, or pretend he hasn’t seen me and just walk on by.
Perhaps I should have some kind of story lined up: a whirlwind husband of my own, maybe? Something to comfort myself with, if nothing else.
I pull the photo from my pocket, the one I want to show him, but I’m not sure I will, not yet.
The clouds are drawing in; it’ll rain soon. I might have to invite him back to my flat; it’s not far. I walk along the path, staring intently at every man who walks past; maybe I really have forgotten what he looks like! Dark hair or blond? Is he as tall and broad as I remember?
And then he’s there, sitting on the exact bench we agreed to. He stands when he sees me, awkwardly walking forward, unsure whether to hug me, shake my hand or simply nod and say, “I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”
“Me neither, whether you would, I mean.”
“You look well.”
He looks along the path. “I’m not sure what we should do now.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“It’s not like this in the films, is it? I kind of thought I’d sweep you off your feet.”
“You would have done, last year.”
“Yes.” He pauses.
I feel for the photo in my pocket, and leave it there.
Don't forget to check out the other challengers!