Don't think I didn't try. I looked for a cure. I met new people, touched new skin—just like you did.
But still… I feel like I'm losing 1-0. Every time.
God, I want a vacation. I want the sea, the sand, and the sky.
I want you.
I want a luxury life. A jet. I want to travel the world. The list never ends.
Dreaming is beautiful, isn't it?
One evening, I went out to dinner with friends. We were at a restaurant when suddenly, a woman shouted, "Chris, stop!"
A fist clenched in my throat. I couldn't turn around. My hands started trembling.
"What are the odds?" I thought. "He couldn't possibly be here. If he were, he'd call me."
Then I heard a man yell, "Chris, come here!"—and seconds later, the sound of a child laughing.
Oh God. It was a child.
Still, my hand kept shaking. For a moment, I felt like I was a regret-filled woman from a movie—facing her past love after years of silence.
It was too much. This coincidence exhausted me.
But Chris is a common name. Why was I so shaken?
We still talk on the phone sometimes. Brief calls. Enough to know we're both still alive.
And honestly, maybe that's all we needed.
I excused myself and went to the restroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw my face was red. One of my friends came to check on me. "Hey, are you okay?"
"No," I replied. "I think my stomach's upset. I need some fresh air."
I stepped outside. My heart was still racing.
What was that? I've never felt it again—not like that.
I've come to accept some things. And I know now: there's no way you were there that night. Impossible.
I guess I'm thirty-two now. You must be thirty-three.
A year from now, we'll both be married—to other people.
Won't we?