I need to put my hands somewhere, she thought, and looking at him added, so I won’t keep reaching out for you. For in the throng, her fingers intermittently fumbled through air for some tangible piece of him- the cusp of his jacket, the solid flesh of his warm, pulsing hand- to reassure herself she hadn’t been abandoned.
She was disappointed by her cowardice. She’d been so certain he made her stronger.
A couple walked between them, widening the divide and her stomach fell. She felt she was on the verge of a panic attack, could sense the hollow dread unfurling in her chest, and knew it was her own fault. Every choice she had made with regard to him was a mistake. She wondered where her rational mind had gone.
Fretfully she happened to look up and in a gap of mingling forms, he caught her eye. Caught it, held her gaze, transmitted calm and possibly pride in her direction. “Smile” he mouthed.
She beamed, her muddied vision beginning to clear.
