Closer

It was a cold Sunday afternoon. I could see the wind softly moving the curtains, even though my windows were closed. Winter in Paris is always a little depressing, especially when five o’clock arrives and night falls so quickly. Little by little, neighbors in the buildings across the street began turning on their warm, white-orange lights and the street lamps—with their cold, orange glow—lit up all at once. I was playing some piano music on the radio while going through boxes from my past. The movers were coming in the next few days, and I needed to empty my old bedroom. I couldn’t believe my parents were selling my childhood home. Even though I had moved out at 24, this house had always been my refuge. I couldn’t help but feel sad that they wanted to downsize after my younger sister moved out. Sitting on the old wooden floor, I pulled out the first box I could reach from under my bed. It was labeled “International Student – UT Austin.” I opened it, and it immediately took me back to this blurry, magical year of studying abroad—one year right in the middle of my time as a student at HEC Business School in France. The little souvenirs inside the box included a sample of his perfume, and I couldn’t help but smell it. As soon as the musky, strong cologne reached my nostrils, I remembered Michael. The first time, we made eye contact in the middle of a crowded student cafeteria. The first time, we ran into each other on the vast university campus during the hot August summer. I set the perfume sample down and looked at the other items I had kept. Photos of new friends—some of whom are still my closest friends today. All the letters Anthony had written for me to open throughout my exchange program, so the time would feel shorter, and the countdown to returning to France could begin. I noticed I had only opened three of the letters before I stopped thinking about him altogether. For some reason, I had kept the entire stack, but I had no desire to ever read them. My student ID card. A flash drive Michael had made for me, filled with photos we had taken together—on campus, at parties, and while exploring Texas under his guidance. We had a beautiful love story, but it belonged to the past. Thinking about it was still too painful. Even though I thought of him often, I knew he had to stay in the past. Holding on to memories like that wasn’t healthy. The rain fell on the roof, and my window felt like a godsend, pulling me out of memory lane. I stood up, pushed aside the curtains, and watched the raindrops glisten under the streetlights. A young couple was running to escape the rain. An older woman walking her dog picked him up and hurried home as fast as she could. I had run in the rain with Michael many times, usually after my marketing class on the way to the library. The rainy season in Texas is unforgiving. The downpours would drench us completely, and large puddles would quickly form on the concrete. Michael would hold my hand and gently pull me into the lobby. Now, I wondered what he was doing. Did he ever think of me? It had been a year. I felt a single tear run down my cheek.