She slunk back into the apartment. Michael was sitting on the couch, breathing heavily. She poured herself a glass of water and sat down beside him.

“He’s fine,” she said.

“Glad to hear,” he replied quietly, without looking at her. “You’re right. I’ve gone too far.”

She patted his head gently. Said she was the one who’d gone too far.

He didn’t reply.

“I hope you don’t regret that we met,” she said, revealing the fear that had been building up inside her those last few days.

He looked up, his eyes red. She gazed at him, at his hands that were shaking.

“Us meeting,” he said. “It wasn’t a coincidence.”

He admitted he had stalked her on Facebook. Orchestrated a chance encounter the moment he saw she checked “attending” for that conference and realized she’d be in Hadera. He confessed he had no idea what would come of it, but decided he didn’t want to let such an opportunity slip by.

She placed her glass on the table. “Surprising,” she said.

“That I stalked you?”

“That I didn’t figure it out myself.” She looked him in the eye. “But why me?”

“Because of the rooms in heaven,” he said.

She didn’t buy it. “Why me?” she insisted.

“Because I was alone,” he mumbled and added that she had been right from the start. That it had all gone too far. That he had completely lost himself this past year. “I have to get out of here,” he said.

“Wait,” she replied. “Let’s fly to Berlin and decide there.”

He didn’t say a word.

13.

THE EVENING BEFORE the flight, she found him sitting by the bed, packing his clothes. Then he announced he was going to buy a book for the flight, kissed her on the cheek, and left the apartment. She lay on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt a heaviness settling inside her.

When she woke up it was already night. Tamara reached out for her phone, checked if there were any new WhatsApp messages, and logged into Facebook. She wanted to see how many likes she had received for the most recent photo she had uploaded. The fourth post that appeared in her feed was Michael’s. He had uploaded it thirty minutes ago.

There’s no place like home

Back in Israel in a few hours.

An airplane emoji appeared next to the text, and according to his check-in, he was “en route to Israel.”

She got out of bed and went into the kitchen. As she had suspected, Michael was sitting at the table in his familiar black jacket, a small suitcase at his feet. He looked at her quietly, as if he had been waiting for her.

“An English gentleman about to board his carriage,” she said.

He smiled. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“You couldn’t wait a week?”

“I’m an impulsive guy.”