Intertwined

C1: The fifth rose

"Four or five?" the man asked, showing her the picture on his phone.

She sipped her wine.

"Sounds about right." said the woman, checking her messages.

He stared at her without making a sound. The reflection of her phone shining bright on her eyes. It was curious, how she could be so comfortable. A week texting every day without exception and she behaved that way? At least she was pretty, he thought.

"I better go, thanks for dinner." she said politely, adding a clearly forced smile. He smiled back. "Bye-bye, Travis."

"Trevor." he corrected her. The smile had been erased.

"Right!" she exclaimed awkwardly. A sudden blush appeared on her cheeks. "Bye, Trevor."

She put on the long, beige fur coat and strolled out of the restaurant.

As he stared inexpressively at the two empty glasses of wine and the leftovers of the chicken wings, he stopped to think. What had just happened?

He was immediately interrupted by the waiter, who was passing next to him.

"Another one bites the dust, hum?" he asked seeing the situation.

Trevor was silent for a moment, trying to think of something equally witty to say. He wasn't witty.

"I guess I'm kinda getting used to it." he replied, his eyes still fixed on the table while he fumbled in his pocket. "Let me pay for this."

"No way." the waiter stated firmly, putting a soft hand on Trevor's shoulder. "It's on the house, for this once. Don't get used to it, though."

It was unwise to argue with free chicken wings.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." said Trevor, smiling gently.

He left the restaurant, and then the mall.

Half an hour and a bus ride later, he was entering his apartment. He turned on the lights, closed the door behind him, let go of those horrible tight shoes and poured some coffee in his cup. He drank it not for the taste, as it was now cold and bitter, but because he didn't want to sleep yet. He looked at the clock. Twenty past eleven in the night. He changed his clothes.

It had all gone by so slowly and so fast at the same time. Where was he now? In his apartment, of course. But where was he? Certainly, in the same place she had left him three years ago. Three years, and he still thought about her everyday without exception. Would she think about him too? Surely, he told himself. Every once in a while, at least. How could it be otherwise? Love is never not thought about.

How bitter that coffee was...

He lay down on the couch and watched the white roof. Yes, she obviously had to think about him, although he hadn't seen nor heard from her in over a year. Maybe she was looking forward to casually running into him one day on the street, or she had to control herself not to dial in his number.

He remembered those days vividly. The time when everything was perfect. The time when he had it all. What had happened? When did that become this? When did in become out? When did I love you become silence?

A few minutes went by in utter silence in the apartment, but deafening noise in his head.

* * *

Suddenly, someone knocked the door several times.

"Hey man, you there?" another man shouted from outside the apartment. "I lost my keys and I got a life or death going on here."