He groaned and put his head in his hands. When he had gotten the phone call from his father, he had been devastated. He remembered his vision going black for a while, and having a small panic attack. His father had been there for him all his life, raising him alone after his mother had died. They were closer than normal parents and children, like best friends. Even when John had moved to the United States from London, he still Skyped with his dad every night, telling him about his day. When he had met Charlotte, his dad had been the first to know.
John remembered telling his dad all about the girl he had met at University, who wore bright yellow dresses and smelled like peaches. He had gushed to his father about her bright orange hair and her emerald green eyes. And those freckles splayed across her cheeks like constellations. He had confessed to his father that after that first day, he had known that she was the girl he wanted to marry.
So when the phone call came, John had had no other thought in his mind than to rush to his father's side. The operation would happen as soon as John arrived in London, and he wanted to be there for his dad just like his dad had been there for him all his life.
When his father died, after a year of taking care of him after his operation, John had been left with nothing. No remaining family, no money (as he had spent everything he earned, working two jobs and doing odd jobs on the side, on his father's hospital bills), and no Charlotte. It was in those days, those nights after he had been working all day, coming home after all the shops were closed, that he missed her the most.
He remembered their first date. She had worn a baby pink sweater and a pair of faded blue jeans, and the combination had knocked his heart into his throat. He could barely speak a word to her the whole date, and she thought he had hated the date. It was only afterward that he was able to assure her, repeatedly and with much stammering, that that was certainly not the case.
When John had finally scraped together the money to see her again, it had passed two years. Then, he had been filled with worries that Charlotte had already forgotten him, and found herself in the arms of another. He had tried to get those images out of his mind, but the thought of Charlotte with someone else tormented him.
And then he had finally made his way back to America. And he went to a restaurant with his friends to catch up after all that time had passed, not expecting to see her there. But when he saw her, all of his thoughts left him, her face still perfect, her eyes still piercing green, her body still small but defiant. And when he had seen her with another man, his heart fell into his feet. Had he gotten to her too late? But as the minutes passed, he could see from just their body language that it was just a first date. Nothing serious. She even looked bored, or uncomfortable, like she wasn't used to dating again, just yet.
He had quickly pulled aside a waiter, slipped him a twenty, and asked him to "accidentally" spill a drink on the couple sitting at that table. He had gestured to Charlotte and her unknown suitor, and gave the waiter a pleading look. "Please," he had whispered, "She's the love of my life." And when the waiter saw the earnest look in his eyes, he had relented and agreed.
John remembered waiting for his opportunity, and then slipping away from his friends to sit across from Charlotte. His Charlotte. Her serious, detached remarked pierced his heart. ""Please, John. Please leave. I can't." Her words had wounded him. If she only knew everything he had gone through to get to this point, to see her face once again... Did she even love him still? He had left the restaurant quickly, body numb, heartbroken.
And he couldn't believe his eyes when he saw her again. The way she looked sitting there, with a cup of tea in her hand, reminded him of their study dates together, before they had confessed to one another. He remembered the constant refills of pots of tea, trying to keep themselves awake as they studied for the upcoming midterm, only to find their hearts beating quickly at their close proximities to each other, wondering if it was the caffeine that had them feeling this way.
And she had walked away from him then, as well. He hadn't gotten the chance to explain himself. At least, not fully. She hadn't given him the time. She didn't know yet. How much he loved her.
John stared at his phone. If he called her now, she might be disturbed. Would she think he was a stalker? He had already run into her unaware two times. And she had left him both times.
But then again, if he didn't call her, when would he have the chance to see her again? He needed her to know. He needed to know if she felt the same way. He picked up the phone.
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