It's late Friday night, and I stare at the television, my mind in a blurred haze. I haven't heard from Elias since our fight on Wednesday morning. I've seen him in passing at work, but that's all.
Maybe that's it—maybe I won't see him again.
On Wednesday, the romantic in me was convinced he had real feelings for me and that he would come back begging. On Thursday, I decided that the man has deep emotional flaws if he couldn't see he had feelings for me.
Today . . . I wonder if I meant anything at all. Maybe I've looked at the whole thing through rose-colored glasses? All along he's given me signs, and like a fool, I've ignored every one of them.
He leaves for London on Monday, I think—not that I would know if his plans have changed.
My mind goes back to the flight where we met, and no
