The one who waited

 

Part 4

Do you think some things feel romantic simply because they didn’t happen?

After the midnight collision, I couldn’t even look my 10-years-younger sister in the eye. I was embarrassed. Not just by what happened—but by what I had accepted. I didn’t want her to think this was what relationships looked like. I didn’t want her to learn that love came with bruises, yelling, and late-night apologies you didn’t owe.

Just when I thought the trauma would stick to me like second skin—I got a call.

It was him.

The only person who has seen me at my absolute worst and still wished the best for me. The only one who never asked me to be anything other than what I already was.

Jimmy.

He’s my Jess. Yes, a Gilmore Girls reference.
The one who yelled at Rory: “Why did you drop out of Yale?”
The one who said: “Write about yourself. Your story.”

That’s who Jimmy is to me—was to me.

He called to wish me a happy new year. But as soon as I said “hello,” he knew. My voice betrayed me. I was drowning.

Without hesitation, he said, “Come to me for a few days.”

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t overthink it.
I booked the flight. Instantly.
Packed whatever I could find.
And flew to him.

The thing is—Jimmy and I had always been something between friends and more than friends. He’d confessed once, in real words. I never really reciprocated. Not because I didn’t feel anything… but because I felt too much.

We had a quiet, platonic intimacy that I didn’t want to ruin. There was no physical touch between us. Just shared chai, unfiltered conversations and ice bursts. And sometimes, I wonder—did I not say yes because of our cultural differences? Because I couldn't picture the long-term? Or was I just afraid to lose the only person who saw me without wanting to fix or claim me?

That morning—everything aligned.
The flight was smooth.
The food tasted better than it should have.
Even the boarding felt easy, like the universe had finally decided to stop testing me.

And when I landed, walked out of the airport—
There he was. Waiting.

No one had ever done that for me before.
He waited the whole time I was mid-air.
An hour, maybe more.
Just to be there.

And when I saw his face—that smile—I forgot all about the night before.
We didn’t hug. But we wanted to.
We shook hands instead, smiled like two people carrying things they’ll never say.

We sat in the cab, and the first stop we made?
A tiny chai shop—for old times’ sake.

Because sometimes, safety doesn't show up as fireworks.
Sometimes, it’s just a quiet friend.
A warm cup.
And a place to land.