A stormy July night. The clouds are heavier than a Naipaul novel. It’s almost 11 pm. And he’s almost here.
I am sitting at my favourite coffee shop; only this time, we are living another day, another boy. Another boy who is late, another boy who loses a crucial brownie point. Just when I feel like I’ve been stood up, someone taps me on my shoulder. It’s him.
The man is impishly cute, with short hair and shorter stubble. ‘Did I keep you waiting?’ he smiles like they do in the movies. It’s shy but unsettling. Maybe it’s the light? It’s always the light. I smile back at him. Who cares about brownie points anyway?