June 2019

I wake up with my usual 6 am alarm, although my biological clock has so adjusted to the time, that I barely need an alarm at all. I quickly wake up, only to look outside the window to see Cambridge in all of its charm and beauty. His new apartment is really a great find – not too far from Harvard, but quiet and secluded from exuberant undergraduates. I look at his sleeping figure, and briefly lament that I have to go back to DC in a week. This little week is all we have together before his PhD programme begins. I put on my shoes, and head out for a quick run before he wakes up. He is nocturnal; while my eyes cant stay open after midnight. We concur that we lose precious time this way, but our bodies refuse to understand our predicament.

As I come back from my run, I see he has begun to stir. The light is falling softly across his face, and his otherwise perfect hair is messy. I bend over and plant a kiss on his nose, and then on his lips. These past few days have all begun the same way, with soft kisses to twittering birds and the smell of freshly brewed tea. We get dressed and take our work to the nearby coffee shop. I have had copious amounts of hot chocolate and tea, even in these warm summer months, over the past few days, as I complete some assignments for my boss. He does some light reading and fills in the silences with little exclamations about his reading. I work fast because I know its only a matter of time before we both lose track, and get sucked into conversation.

As I finish my assignment and look up at him, a wave of gratitude washes over me. Buried in his book, he exudes a calm and confidence that at once unnerves and reassures me. Even my anxiety does a double take before hitting me these days. But today’s gratitude is being paid by my past self. The fat woman who spent hours feeling lonely. Who hated couples and romance, because she could never relate to any of it. Who was angry at the world, even at her friends for “leaving her behind.” Who craved intimacy on long nights, and felt pangs on envy when her friends went out with their boyfriends. Who craved someone he could call exclusively her own. He is her person. He is my person.

We head back home, pack a lunch and take it to the Harvard campus. Already we have found some secluded spots where we can enjoy each other and the solitude, while being outside. I remember feeling jealous of every person who went to school here, and could never come on campus without feeling bitter. Those feelings are behind me. My time will come I know, and meanwhile I am overjoyed that he has decided to do his PhD here. We read some more, and nap under a big tree. I lie on his arm knowing that I am home, a home I will never feel too foreign to come to.

 

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