The ride back to our apartment blurred past in a haze of nerves and longing. I didn’t even take the elevator calmly—I was practically holding my breath. And then the door opened.

You were there.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t smile. I just dropped my bag, crossed the room in three long strides, and wrapped my arms around you like I’d been drowning and you were air. My voice cracked as I whispered, “I miss you,” again and again, like a prayer I’d been saving just for this moment.