TWO MONTHS LATER,
01ST SEPTEMBER,
AT THE AIRPORT OF ITALY.
l sat down on the waiting benches, reading through my novel. l started it last month and now l am about to finish it.
So, well l was sitting on the benches and then the communicator said that it was time for the Japan airways to board and of course l got up from my seat and then stared heading for the final checkup. Until l noticed that l didn't have my journal. And it was very important to me, so l left my things on the side and then ran to the waiting area again and started looking around to see where l had left it.
I looked around and then saw where l was sitting before. I immediately ran over to the place and then saw someone holding it into his hands and l slowly tapped on their shoulders. And he turned around; l couldn't even describe how or what l could add on. It wasn't possible but how could it be, what happened.
"Hey there? This must be yours..." he said under his breath and then handled the journal over to me.
"Yeah, it is. Thanks for holding onto it for me." l said with a smile and then took it.
But at the back of my mind, l was wondering why he was somehow blankly ignoring me, didn't he recognize me, but have l changed that much or has something happened to him that made him forget everything?
l wondered, smiling a goodbye to him. I couldn't believe it because l didn't want it to go like this. l didn't want him to ignore me. l didn't want him to avoid me. l didn't want him to forget about me.
But why is he acting like this, l am so upset and my mood is all ruined now. Alex what happened to you.
Those were all questions going through my head and that l wanted to ask him about. He changed so fast and l didn't think he would move on so fast.
And now it's making me turn into a crazy obsessed self-observed person.
I left with so many questions and l really wasn't expecting it to be like this, to me again after all this time. I wanted it to be more depth like in romance movies l have been watching. And l can't believe myself can't just acted like that and acted all calm too.
The airport buzzed with its usual symphony of rolling suitcases, distant announcements, and the muted chatter of travelers. Yet, amidst the chaos, I felt strangely detached, almost untouchable, as I moved with measured elegance through the terminal. My long hair was pulled back into a sleek, high ponytail that swung gently with every step, the polished shine catching the lights above. My skirt—a tailored, bladed piece that swayed gracefully with my movement—paired with a sharp blazer, gave me an air of confidence that contrasted with the flutter of nerves hidden beneath the surface. The boots I wore clicked softly against the tiles, each step deliberate, like a cadence that marked my calm façade.
I navigated through the crowd toward the Japanese Airways gate, my luggage rolling behind me, careful not to rush yet not wanting to be late. My mind wandered to the novel I had tucked under my arm, my constant companion during travels like this—pages filled with imagined worlds that allowed me to escape, even briefly, from the reality I carried with me.
Settling into a window seat, I let the bustle fade behind me. The large glass pane stretched before me, offering a view of planes taxiing and taking off, the fading sun casting gold and crimson across the tarmac. I pulled out my novel, fingers brushing the smooth cover, and began to read, letting the words anchor me. The terminal's sounds became a distant hum, a background to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
That's when I noticed him. At first, I didn't think it could be—he moved with that same deliberate, controlled grace, the kind that always seemed effortless. Alexander. My pulse jumped, and a flutter of warmth rose to my cheeks. I quickly lowered my gaze to my book, pretending to be absorbed, yet I could feel the weight of him as he slid into the seat beside me.
He didn't greet me. He didn't give away that he knew me. His presence alone was enough to make my chest tighten. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, he reached into his coat pocket and produced a folded note. The movement was so casual, so precise, it could have belonged to any stranger—but my heart told me otherwise.
"Here," he said softly, sliding the note toward me.
I glanced up, and the world seemed to narrow to the space between us. My eyes met his, sharp, controlled, unreadable, and my cheeks betrayed me immediately. They burned red, hot enough that I feared he could see it. Flustered, I fumbled slightly, taking the note from him with both hands as though it were fragile, as though touching it too quickly might shatter something delicate between us.
He didn't flinch at my reaction. Didn't give away any hint of recognition. He remained calm, collected, a stranger in the midst of my internal storm. I unfolded the paper slowly, fingers trembling slightly, and the words scrawled across it made my heart skip in a way that words rarely did.
A warmth spread through me that I couldn't suppress. I kept my eyes on the note, reading and rereading, cheeks still tinged pink, every thought colliding with the memory of him, the gravity he carried, and the way he always seemed to pull at my very being—even from a distance, even without acknowledgment.
I dared a quick glance at him. He was still looking ahead, expression neutral, hands resting lightly on his lap. He didn't speak. He didn't give a single sign that he had just rewritten the atmosphere around me, that the simple act of passing me a note had sent my thoughts into chaos.
The airport around us seemed to blur. The rolling suitcases, the echoing announcements, the hurried footsteps—they all disappeared behind the sudden stillness that had settled between us. His presence was a silent claim, a quiet assertion that even unacknowledged, he mattered, and yet he left me to navigate the turbulence of my own heart.
I folded the note carefully, tucking it into the novel I held. The paper felt impossibly warm, impossibly alive in my hands, and I couldn't stop the shiver that ran through me. He hadn't smiled. He hadn't said a word beyond that single, almost clinical utterance. Yet somehow, he had spoken volumes.
The seconds stretched into minutes as I stared out the window, the planes taking off into the fading light. My mind replayed the moment over and over, the feel of his presence beside me, the way my pulse had betrayed me, the way my fingers lingered on the note longer than they should have.
And then, as if to punish me further, he shifted slightly, adjusting in his seat, and the faint brush of his arm against mine was enough to make my heartbeat stutter again. He didn't notice—or if he did, he gave no sign. It was as if he existed in a world entirely his own, and I was just an observer, caught in the orbit of his controlled gravity.
I forced myself to breathe, to calm the storm inside me, to remind myself that he was just a man. Just a man who had my attention, yes, but nothing more. Yet even as I said it to myself, even as I tried to anchor my mind to reason, the warmth lingered in my chest. The blush on my cheeks refused to fade. The weight of the note, the weight of him, pressed against me with quiet insistence.
Minutes passed. I sipped from my coffee, trying to steady my shaking hands, but even the hot liquid offered little comfort. My eyes flicked to him again. He remained still, composed, the very embodiment of control. But the energy, the quiet intensity, radiated from him and sank into my bones, unrelenting and profound.
And all I could think was: he was still Alexander. He was still the man who had haunted my dreams, controlled my fears, and now—without a single word—had managed to unsettle my composure entirely in the middle of an airport.
I tucked the note back into my novel, adjusting my skirt, brushing my hair behind my ear, trying to reclaim some semblance of poise. But it was gone, dissolved in the gravity of his presence, leaving only the echo of that simple gesture—the note—and the impossible ache of what it implied.