You were already at the airport and was having a meal with your family while I waited at the outdoor Harry's bar close at the wing of the terminal near the gate. I nursed a pint to sooth my nerves that had been unraveled just an hour ago when I stood nervously in the long queue at the check-in counter hoping that you and your family would not arrive before I could check-in.

In the minutes that ticked quickly by after I got an SMS from you saying you were on the way to the airport, I grew increasingly agitated at the unmoving line. With 15 minutes to spare, it was finally my turn, and I left specific instruction for you to check-in with the counter staff who has served me. Then I slipped into the safety of the departure area, where I would be out of sight from your parents.

I hated myself at that moment. That we had to make such an arrangement, as if we were an illicit affair. Illegitimate.

Yet, as we settled into our seats, we felt euphoria somewhat at the fact that this was the first time we were flying back together. Then, sometime into the flight, it became apparent you were going to remain quiet. When I asked you what was wrong, you said you were not ready to leave yet. It would have been perfectly understandable had I not been affected by the thought that it did not seem to matter to you that I had taken time out for the next five days I would be spending with you, and that this was the third time I had flown to you in the short span of two months.

Throughout the flight you were withdrawn, and I did likewise. Little did I knew that we would be remain mostly so for the next five days.

Advertisement