“I’m here.”
Jack wasn’t sure what to expect. For 6 months she’d lived on his screen and now he’d smashed through it and brought it into reality. This could be a pot of gold, it could be Pandora’s Box. Whatever happened, he knew that when she opened that door onto the baking Valencia street his life would never be the same again. A nagging fear of rejection dormant for so many years burned at the front of his mind. She’d seen his message but not replied. Sweat began to bead on his back – it was 10am and already 35°C. He hadn’t slept in almost 26 hours, and the rush of traffic mirrored the churning in his stomach. Reality and dreams were crashing into each other. There was an acrid smell being vented from the restaurant the cab had dropped him off at, the straps of the rucksack were digging into his shoulders. Maybe somehow she wasn’t real, maybe she was some kind of AI experiment, maybe she was a figment of his imagination, a brain tumour hallucination that-
The door swung open, and there she stood. Time seemed to move in a different way around her. Pedestrians swept by like racing thoughts, blurring around the edges of an island of shimmering calm around her.
“Hey.”
Her eyes shone despite them being the darkest he’d ever seen. There was a fire to them, something that screamed life out into the world and didn’t care what the response was. He moved towards her, and gently took her face into his hand. Her lips moved to his palm, across his fingers. He leaned his head towards her and her lips brushed his cheeks, his eyes. Instead of thoughts, instead of feelings, a single word came to Jack’s mind.
Home.
Jack Of Albion 