Ian
I’d been staring at the arrivals board for twenty minutes, heart hammering like I was eighteen again not thirty-two. Gate 12B. Flight from Chicago. Chloe’s flight. The one she’d booked three weeks ago after we’d finally said the words out loud: “I need to see you in person.”
We’d met in the most ordinary place possible, a subreddit for amateur writers. She’d posted a short story about a girl who was terrified of being touched. I left a comment that was kinder than most. She replied, I replied. One year later we were texting every single day, voice notes at 2 a.m., video calls where she’d hide half her face behind a pillow because she was shy about her smile.
Chloe was twenty-three. Still lived with her parents. Had never had a boyfriend who lasted longer than three dates. She ca
