Six hundred and ninety-seven days.

One year, eleven months, and two days.

Six hundred and ninety-seven days spent waiting. Waiting for Max Hastings’ verdict. Waiting for the day Ravi could finally have you again.

It had been a long six hundred and ninety-seven days.

You’d spent the last almost-two years at Cambridge University, cutting off anyone and everyone in your life. You couldn’t risk it, after the murder you committed, to have people tied to you. Even if it made you depressed, it had to be done.

Three minutes after the verdict was read in The Crown vs. Max Hastings.

His text pops up on your screen. And you wanted to cry. Because finally, Max was going to be behind bars. And finally, Ravi was yours again.

Hey Sarge, remember me?

How could you forget?

—

Shit. You hadn’t been back to Little Kilton in ages. Six hundred and ninety eight days, to be exact.

You’d spent a good four hours at your parents house — your old house. You had had to cut them off too, for the plan to work. It hurt, but still.

Ravi Singh’s doorstep. You hadn’t been there for, well, six hundred and ninety eight days. A place you knew so well, yet you didn’t know it at all now. You tried to imagine Ravi, aged two or so years, and nothing could come to mind.

After ringing the doorbell, you realised shit, you’d never replied to his text message. What if he thought you were still cutting him off? What if he wanted nothing to do with you now? Unlikely, since he’d texted you. But the anxieties flooded your mind as the seconds pass by, waiting. Waiting. Waiting like he had been for the last six hundred and ninety eight days.

That’s when the door flew open, revealing Ravi-Fucking-Singh. Your Ravi. Ravi, a couple years older, a couple years wiser.

Ravi, who couldn’t believe you were standing there.

He wanted to hug you. He wanted to take you in his arms and tell you everything was going to be okay. Tell you how much he’d missed you. How miserable his life had been without you.

But he could only stare at you.