I hope you miss me sometimes
I stared at the text from Charles. I've been staring at it for days. Every time I opened my phone, my fingers somehow always opened the conversation with him. I wanted to reply, but I didn't know what.
Yes. Of course, I miss you. I still love you
or maybe
I do. Do you?
or perhaps I should lie
No... not anymore.
371 days later, I still loved him just as much as last September. I hadn't seen him for so long and yet I still loved him. We stalked each other on Instagram. And not so long ago he showed his recent searches for some YouTube video, and I saw my name there. He googled me.
"Y/N L/N. Yeah, I was checking out how she did at the US Open. I'm a big fan of hers."
I smiled when I heard him say that. Somewhere deep down I knew he kept track of what was going on in my life. He kept track of my achievements just like I did with his. I cheered for him whenever I could.
US Open was great. I felt ready like never. I enjoyed it so much since I wasn't able to play it last year because I was recovering from my injury in Italy - where I met Charles. Winning on domestic soil always felt the best - it was like a triumph.
I was just packing my things. I should leave for the airport in less than three hours - Dubai was waiting for me. Then Singapore and New Zealand. I had to keep myself in shape throughout the winter.
Any chance you're in NYC?
My phone vibrated in my hand—another text from him. I bite down my lip. The familiar rush of emotions surged through me, mingling with the bittersweet memories of our past.
The timing was both perfect and imperfect. But deep down, a part of me longed to see him again, to bridge the gap that had grown between us over time and distance.
With trembling fingers, I typed my response.
Yeah, I am. Why? Are you missing me?
As I hit the send button, a mix of anticipation and nervousness washed over me. The truth spilt from my fingertips, revealing the vulnerability I had tried to conceal. I yearned to know if he still carried the same feelings I did and if the connection we had shared still held significance for him.
Dearly. Send me your address, please
It wasn't even an hour when I heard the doorbell. My apartment was a mess. My clothes were everywhere because I couldn't choose what to pack. Some of my skincare was on the floor, and some others were on my bed. I was always so chaotic when it came to packing.
I gathered the courage and opened the door. I turned the doorknob, and there he stood, Charles, just as I remembered him—his familiar smile, the warmth in his eyes, and the way his presence filled the room. We stood there for a moment, our eyes locked, words momentarily escaping us as emotions spoke volumes.
We both took a step closer and then we kissed. After a year. We kissed like we saw each other yesterday and not a year ago. As our lips met, a rush of emotions flooded through me. It was a kiss that held the weight of all the missed moments, the longing, and the unspoken words. In that instant, time seemed to stand still, and the world around us faded into insignificance.
The warmth of Charles' embrace enveloped me, and I melted into his arms. The familiarity of his touch ignited a fire within me. Breaking the kiss, our eyes locked, searching for the answers we both longed to find.
