My hat covers half of my face. It’s cold, but the hat only serves the intention of protecting my identity. I move like someone on a black and white old thriller. Before proceeding, I have to make sure that he is not around. Jealous husbands seem to exist in excess these days.
I look at my right, left and back. I have plain conscience that my heart is dangerously accelerated. I study the faces, trembling with the idea of discovering the only one that I am avoiding. The wait is killing me, but I am decided to be cautious and respect the agreed.
“At eleven you enter. I will be expecting you. We will have one or two hours for us…”
I am undecided. I should think about risks and other issues, but how can I refuse this unique opportunity? Hence, I wait. I have the determination of assuming my feelings and forgetting secondary considerations.
Precisely at eleven, I give my first steps towards the entrance. My movements are feline. I don’t look round again. I’ve been waiting for half an hour, just to be sure that he is not near. Now, it’s my time to move.
A stair leads to the first floor. I knock at the door. Nobody seems to be there. Around me, only silence. Finally, someone answers. That person is clearly expecting me, but he is not the person I am expecting to meet.
“The person you want is waiting for you in a private cabinet” he explains. He leads me to the left and I follow him.
I walk insecure about giving or not giving an order for my heart to be still. I understand that we are arriving to the door where someone I want very much to meet, to kiss and embrace is eager to meet me, to kiss me and embrace me too.
The man disappears behind the door and surfaces after a short while with the usual “you may come in”. Feeling that the worst is over, I free myself from the disguising hat and the heavy coat. I know that what it’s about to happen shall stay within those four walls. It has to be like so for the time being.
My hand opens the door left ajar by the man that is now turning the corner of an empty corridor. I disappear behind that same door.
More than one hour go by before I reappear. At my side, the only sister I have. We can only meet in secrecy, because her husband is jealous of the feelings she has for me.
“It was so short!” she complains.
“I know! Perhaps next time we will have more time to speak and be together!” I cheer her up.
When life is this hard, a touch of hope is the only right move.