‘i need to sit down.’

sitting next to jill, at the bottom corner of the staircase, i let it out. i can’t remember the last time i cried so much, or so intensely. jill put her hand on my shoulder, in an effort to comfort me.

i heard footsteps. stop crying, i told myself. pull yourself together. i took a deep breath and dried my eyes. my shoulders still shook.

‘you should tell her.’ she said. michelle came in through the door. i bowed my head, hiding in the shadow. she walked past discreetly.

‘tell her what?’ i asked.

‘tell her what you told me. tell her that you miss her.’

‘i can’t. i shouldn’t.’

‘but if you love her… and she loves you…’

‘i have a girlfriend. and she’s coming tomorrow.’

‘if you don’t talk to her, there’ll always be the ‘what if’. the ‘what could have been.’ talk to her.’

my thoughts spun in my head. what if i talked to her. what would i say? what was the point? what if she reciprocated? what then? what did i want? what was right? was it wrong? too many questions. all so confusing.

‘i’ll ask sue. jess talked to her. she knows us both. she knows the whole story.’

‘ok. ask her.’

‘ok.’

i wiped my face with my sleeves. ‘are my eyes red?’

‘let me see… no.’

‘really. are you sure…’

‘yeah…’

‘ok.’ i looked upstairs. dinner would be over soon. ‘let’s go up.’

***

‘what do you want me to do?’

sue was looking at me with a hard eye. her words cut me.

‘i … i mean, well. tell me that it’s wrong. tell me that i shouldn’t talk to her.’

‘you shouldn’t talk to her.’

‘but maybe… i might never get the chance again… ever. maybe if i just settled it once and for all.’

‘it won’t help. it’ll only make it harder to let go.’

i didn’t want to let go. i didn’t want it to end. ‘she emailed me last week.’

‘… and you talked to her on the phone.’

‘yeah.’

‘if you break up with jess, she’ll break up with jason. that wouldn’t be right.’ she sighed. ‘it’s hard, i know. with me and james, sometimes i wonder if we’ll work out too. if we’re right for each other. but not this way. you can’t let your feelings get in the way of your judgment.’

‘but i don’t know if that’s even possible. i can’t separate them.’

‘that’s what she said too.’

i looked at her. i knew she was right. talking to her would be wrong. it was wrong. and that was that.

‘i shouldn’t talk to her.’

‘you shouldn’t talk to her.’

i closed my eyes. ‘ok.’

i walked down the stairs to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. let it out. cry it out. then go back upstairs. a few tears blurred my vision. but nothing more. i sat on the floor, against the wall. you can do this. you can get through this night.

i got up, opened the door, and went upstairs.

don’t think.

distract yourself.

***

‘are you ok?’

why was she doing this to me. i’m not ok. i miss you. i want you.

i sat down, and typed on my phone: ‘mm yeah.’

‘mm ok. glad to hear… have fun with jess. i hear she’s really great.’

i winced. ‘yeah, she is. have a good holiday in morocco with your mum.’

i pressed send.

i switched off my lights, and went to bed.

The excitement in her voice rang as high as his heart sank low. Two conflicting emotions channeled across two continents; one unconcealed, the other hidden deep within, weighed down by guilt.

‘That’s great.’ he managed to say. His voice betrayed his feelings. The short, but heavy pause on the line made him wince.

‘I got the tickets in the mail yesterday.’

The excitement had gone.

‘I was going to surprise you, but I couldn’t help myself… and… and I know how you don’t really like surprises.’

‘I’m glad you’re coming, Jen. I really am.’

‘I know…’ Another pause. ‘I’ve… got to go.’

It was 11 pm in New York, on a Tuesday night. She had called just five minutes before.

‘Me too.’

The line went dead.

In a bid to write words that were unseen, private and unknown, he had created a weblog accessible to all. No one knew who typed the words, so did it matter that anyone could read it? No, it should not bother him. It was safe. Although situated in the public domain, he remained anonymous.

But wasn’t it the same in Ankara? Reflecting on his brief sojourn to the capital of Turkey, he remembered how nice it felt to walk the streets with no one knowing him, and him knowing no one. It had been a great relief and stood in stark contrast to the claustrophobic hustle and bustle of Cambridge. 

Each morning, he would pause just before stepping out of Magdalene, hoping against hope that he would not bump into an acquaintance, friend, or (god forbid) supervisor on his way to lectures. It was always to no avail.

How different it was in Ankara. Amidst the rush hour traffic and the din of the nearby market, nobody had even given him the slightest glance. Yet he had spent the better part of the morning combing his hair and deciding what to wear.

Glancing at the words flickering on the computer screen, he realised that it did bother him. He might be anonymous, but he cared what the world thought. It did not make sense. Then again, writing a private journal on the world wide web did not make much sense either.

Perhaps, deep down, he wanted to share his deepest secrets with the world. He shuddered at the thought: a voyeur in reverse.

With a sigh, he reached for his Moleskin, its black leather cover gathering dust, stacked among the law books on his shelf. Opening the drawer and taking a pen randomly from his mismatched collection of stationery, he began to write.