The repetition of an act past leads to a reunion she's not sure she wanted, but can't escape.
"Yes, I remember." I felt quite proud to hear no hitch in my voice. On the outside, I must not have looked out of place. Yet, on the inside, I was on the breach of hysterics.
"Here I am," I thought again, "What am I doing here?"
He came closer then, and his boots clicked in a steady manner. One, two, three steps I counted. Had there been that many last time? Last time...
He was near; near enough for people to wonder if we were playing some illicit lovers' game. My outer strength was cracking, and surely I must have looked too eager for his presence.
His hand reached out calmly and held my own in his loose grip. I didn't flinch; I felt far too hazy. This couldn't be happening.
The raindrops pelted the window panes and I feigned interest in the patterns coming and going on the glass.
But he knew me better, and that's what may have frightened me most.
"I didn't come here to make you feel uncomfortable." My vision was cloudy, and I couldn't give out the proper details of him-his eyes, hair, body-but I wondered briefly if he was the same.
Lord only knew I wasn't.
"Of course you didn't. You're not that kind of person." I felt a flush of shame at the tremor I heard, but I pushed it down ferociously. I couldn't let him know-though, he probably did, he did know me so well-how much I did remember. That it wasn't just the rain...
To my horror, I felt the tears, wet and burning, tumbling down my cheeks. I gasped and tried to pull away but he pulled me against his chest and he held me tightly.
My sobbing eased, and I found the courage-no, the pride-to look him in the eye, and he smiled down on me.
"It was raining that day when we last met."
So it had.