Your phone lights up as a text message appears on the screen.
Hey, can you talk? H.
I guess, I don't have anything going on today. But you would have to come to my place because John is working today and the dog isn't feeling good.
Sounds good. Is 4 okay? It will be quick.
Sure.
Checking the time, you have about an hour to make yourself presentable and clean up the apartment just a little. You throw on a pair of jeans and brush your fingers through your hair before picking up things that had been scattered on the floor.
It had been a week or so since the first time you had seen Harry in three months. For some reason, you were nervous.
The doorbell buzzed, and you run to the intercom. "Hey," you press the button. "I'll be up in a minute!" He responds.
You rush to look in the mirror before you hear a knock at the door. You open the door in one swift motion. "Hey," you smile towards the man in front of you.
"Hi," he looks down to his feet. "Can I come in?" He asks politely.
"Oh yeah, of course." You move out of the door way for him to enter. He takes his shoes off slowly. "So, how have you been?" You question.
"I've been good. Nothing much happening in the life of Harry. What about you?" He asks as he walks over to the kitchen table to take a seat. You follow him.
"Nothing much. Buddy is sick today so John made me stay home with him," you answer.
"Isn't that his dog? Why do you get stuck watching the thing."
You shrug your shoulders in response. "I don't know. He asked. And I live here too."
"You say yes too much."
You roll your eyes and lean over the counter, zoning in on him. "So. Tell me Harold, why are you here?"
"You invited me," he avoids the question.
"That's not what I meant and you know it. Why did you want to talk?"
You stare into his eyes, trying to reveal the truth. He ponders in his thoughts for a moment, thinking how to answer the question that he was afraid you would ask. He pulls at his lip. "Honestly?" He asks.
"No, I want you to lie to my face Harry," you reply sarcastically. "Of course I want you to tell me the truth. We were in a relationship for more than two years. I would hope you would never lie to me."
"Okay," he takes a deep breath. You search his eyes, trying to understand what is running through his complex mind. He meets your gaze. "The truth is, I couldn't stop thinking about you after I saw you last week at the coffee shop," he confesses.
Your heart drops, and you can't think of anything to say that would make the situation any less uncomfortable than it already is. He takes his eyes off of you and stares at the apple in front of him before beginning to spin it in circles mindlessly.
"Harry," you run your fingers through your hair. "I don't know what to say," you whisper.
"It's okay. You don't have to say anything." He says in defeat, rising from his chair and putting his coat on one arm at a time. You rush to the other side of the counter, stopping him in his tracks.
"Harry, don't go," you plead. "Let's talk this through. Friends can help each other through tough times, and walking away doesn't solve anything." You look straight into his sad green eyes. The eyes of the person you were deeply, madly in love with only a few months ago.
