Long years of traveling clearly wore him off, stained his skin, tangled his hair. She knew for sure there was no mistake, but the man at the corner table was merely a shadow of her brother. Only at that moment did she realized what these long years of constant chase might have done to her.
She used to look up to him, you know, a lot. He just seemed so confident in himself, so sure of his actions and, at the same time, always ready to listen. His mere presence used to calm everyone down, bring a sense of safety and trust. It was hard not to like him. It was hard not to want to be around him. It was hard not to tell him everything you had on your mind.
The man at the corner table could still be that, right? He could still rise up, straighten his shoulders. Maybe, he was still the same underneath this shabby shell. It was unlikely, but she couldn’t know for sure: they didn’t speak for a while, he blocked her on the social media and stopped answering his phone after that last message. Oh, if only she had known, she would have never sent that message.
It was many years ago and since then there wasn’t a day she wasn’t looking for him, calling his friends, monitoring his favorite places, checking his mail, taking train tickets. Why? To speak to him, she thought. To explain herself, she thought. But now, looking at the poor man at the corner table, she realized the only thing these years of stalking accomplished was the destruction of their lives.
She got up from the table, doubting herself for a second.
But then she left him be.
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