The feeling of his presence earlier makes more sense now. He was freaking following me. I knew it. I felt him in the fall air, in the rustling of the leaves as a breeze blew through, and inside me, my intuition told me he was near. The stalker. It was cute back in Beacon. Here, on the streets of New Haven, it’s not anymore.

As soon as I get into the apartment, I lock the door and the bolts, so basically do what I usually do. Toss my backpack to the table and head straight for the blinds to close them. Once the living room is secured, I close the blinds in both bedrooms as well.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I hold out my shaking hands. Thank God I don’t plan to be a surgeon. I sit on them, hoping that calms them down as I take several deep breaths.

For an organ that refused to cooperate the past two years, my heart is putting on quite the performance after seeing Harbor.

I missed dinner, opting to study instead, and the apple and salad I had for lunch has long worn off. My stomach growls, so I move into the kitchen and make a bowl of cereal. I never liked this cereal until it was around all the time when I lived with Harbor.

Sitting on the couch, I switch on the TV, hoping to switch off my mind. But even Pretty Woman can’t turn my thoughts around when it finally sinks in that Harbor is out there.

He’s here.

Somewhere.

Oh God, what have I done? I set the bowl on the coffee table and hurry for the door. But I stop and return to put the bowl on a coaster, and then make a run for him. I don’t care that I’m in my socks or that I have to take the stairs. I take them anyway. I just need to get to him, to hear his side of the story. I push through the lobby and rush to the sidewalk.

Left.

Then right.

I look left again and then across the street. But there’s no sign of him. How can that be? I threw two small hurdles his way, and he doesn’t even try to jump them? Not even for me? Why’d he come back to New Haven, then?

Huffing a loud and exhaustive breath, I don’t know if I feel defeated or deflated. Both, actually. When I turn around, I see his car parked down the street, and my feet stay, not willing to move despite my head’s better judgment to do so.

He doesn’t get out, but I see his silhouette in the driver’s seat.

For a second, I smile, and my hand raises slightly from my side as if I’d seen a long-lost friend, before I catch myself and lower it again. I guess I have, his words playing back on a lowlights reel. “You look lost.”

I am.

More than I realized until now.