The Sweetness of Almost-Meetings

The scent of vanilla always brings him back, doesn't it? This little confection – a frivolous indulgence really, for someone watching their weight – felt like an echo of those afternoons spent in the patisserie near his university. I never told him about my feelings, you see. A silly habit of mine to keep affections tucked away.
He’d always arrive precisely at 2:57 PM, a whirlwind of hurried apologies for being late and bright enthusiasm for whatever obscure book he was reading then. And he'd smile. It was the kind of smile that could thaw glaciers, you know? A warmth I hadn’t known existed until it settled on my face.
He moved away after graduation, naturally. Life has a way of doing that – sweeping people off in directions they never intended to go. Sometimes, when I'm alone and the city lights blur through the rain-streaked window, I imagine him somewhere else, living a life wonderfully different from the one where our hands brushed as we both reached for the last éclair.
I still visit that patisserie occasionally. Not for the pastries, though they are exquisite. But to sit at 'our' table and pretend he’s just running late.

Editor: The Courier of Time