He was waiting for her. She was sure of that.
She’d seen him a couple of times around town, over a period of a few weeks, and sensed that he was closing in, seeking her out.
Hunting her down.
She feigned ignorance, of course. She didn’t want to let on that she knew he was following her. Didn’t want to give the game away.
So, she carried on as normal. Walking around like a tourist, she wandered into the Abbey Park.
She knew the place like the back of her hand, having all but grown up there. But still she feigned ignorance. If he thought she was just a tourist, taking photos like the hoards of visitors did during the summer, perhaps he wouldn’t give her a second glance.
He’d tried to hide, of course, to bury himself in reading. But she knew the stance, the look, the outfit; he gave himself away a lot easier than she knew he would have liked to.
So, she had just walked on by, past the bench he was discreetly sitting on, under the magnolia tree where they had first met, all those years ago.
As if he thought she wouldn’t remember! The audacity of the man. The sheer gall of him!
And yet, the mere fact that he was there, that he was following her, gave her some reassurance.
He still wanted her.
He still needed her.
So, she resolved to go to him. Surrender to him. Accept his love, in whatever form he chose to give it.
But first, she needed to gather herself. To work out what she was going to say. She needed the words, the right words that show she was open to him.
Acceptance, but not desperation. She didn’t want him to think she was desperate.
(This is a story based on candid street photos I took over a couple of days, and should not be seen as a true reflection of either of these people’s lives.)