We reach her door at half-past midnight after a slow and meandering walk through the park’s dappled darkness, up and down streets that led nowhere in particular. Nowhere but here. Side-by-side, talking and giggling, bumping into one another, teasing and shooting knowing glances. All the while, I’d watched the scattered moonlight stroke the edge of her jaw, the long curve of her neck, and I burned with jealousy.
But now we’re here. It drizzled tonight, leaving patches of cold wetness on the street and a glistening sheen on the gray stone of her stairwell. The spring wind rises and flutters in her hair, making the ends dance along her shoulder. She looks up at me with eyes like glaciers at sunrise, and I smile queerly. She bites her too-full lip, glances shyly to the side, and says, “So…”
It’s a question and an announcement. A deflection of what we’re both probably thinking and feeling. Caught in the sudden gust of uncertainty, she sways gently to the side.
“So,” I echo.
“This is me,” she adds near whisper, glancing over her shoulder at the door as if that weren’t obvious.