Was she looking out a window at me? I checked her address on my phone.
After more than two years of not hearing from her, I looked up her information online. It had cost me two hundred dollars, but I found it.
Crossing the street, I wondered why she hadn’t contacted me over the years. Our last night together in Afghanistan had turned hot and heavy, but she had been sent away before we could finish what we’d started.
I made it to the front door of her building, not seeing a doorman. After finding her name, I pressed the button to ring her apartment.
She’s not home, I thought immediately, stepping away. I’ll come back some other day.
“Hello? Who is it?” came the sound of her voice.
My heart soared from the thrill of hearing her again. “Me,” I answered.
“And who is ‘me’?” she said after a brief pause.
“Warren.”
“Warren?”
“From Afghanistan.”
“Oh, Warren! Come in.”
The door buzzed and clicked, unlocking. I walked through, entering the lobby. On the way to the elevator, I thought about the two years since I’d last seen her.
Was I insane for showing up out of the blue? Questions went through my mind as I rode the elevator to her apartment on the eleventh floor.
The moment I reached her door and knocked, it swung open.
When I saw her beautiful face, memories of that fateful night in Afghanistan rushed to my mind.
“Warren,” she said, her long dark hair as curly as ever. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s been two years. I thought I’d look you up.” To my dismay though, she didn’t seem too excited to see me.
“Come inside a minute. I need to leave for work,” she said
I stepped into her apartment. Feeling awkward, I began to ramble. “Anyway, like I said, we were separated a bit abruptly, and—”
“Yeah,” she interrupted and then took a step toward the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the living room. Her shoes tapped on the polished wooden floor as she walked over.
I followed her, captivated. She hadn’t changed a bit. “That’s quite a view,” I said without thinking.
“Yeah, it’s why I moved here. The rent is crazy expensive, but I think it’s worth it.”
“You must be some big-name journalist by now, huh?”
She frowned. “No. I’m an editor now.”
“Oh, working on the other side of the equation? Still a journalist though.”
“I’m not actually a journalist anymore. I edit…other stuff.”
The tone of her voice piqued my interest. “I’d love to hear more about it then, if you’re up to it.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but like I said, I’m on my way to work. It’s weird that you caught me. I’m usually not here this late in the morning. How did you find me, anyway?”
“Oh, some stuff I did online.”