She returned to her car, the air around her noticeably lighter than it had been just hours earlier. It was hard to believe she'd nearly cried that same morning—overwhelmed, aching, undone. Now, her chest swelled with something dangerously close to joy.
Ecstatic. That was the word. She felt ecstatic.
So much so that she did something impulsive, ridiculous, and honest. She recorded a video—face flushed with feeling, voice trembling slightly with the weight of all that hope. In the video, she said, "If we ever end up together, I want you to know—this is what I felt like back then."
Then she drove away, smiling far too wide, far too bright—for someone who wasn't even sure she had the right person in the first place.
And just as she was writing all of this down, still warm with the memory, he appeared again.
He walked past her, casually, on his way to the washroom. Her heart instantly tripped over itself. She glanced up briefly, then buried herself in her laptop screen, too flustered to do anything else.
He returned a while later, collected his things, and left.
She didn't remember whether she followed him out or simply sat there pretending not to care. But she remembered this much clearly—
He left.
And he was real.
And for now, that was enough.