Three hours to kill at Charles De Gaulle before my connecting flight, and the tingles at the base of my nape are driving me insane. Something, no someone, is at the root of this sensation, and if I acknowledge him I know my world will drastically rock.
I lower my gaze and stare at the toes of my boots. (Travel tip: free up suitcase space by wearing the bulkiest shoes while travelling. Your feet are going to swell no matter what after six hours in the sky.) The tingles grow stronger, so I make a quick decision to duck into the nearest café and sit at the only available table with a chair facing the wall. Keeping my back to the bustling terminal, and therefore fellow travelers, I pretend to be engrossed in my Kindle, which in reality is still on the home page.
I may sense him, know he’s here, but I also know he’s preoccupied with his next big meeting and doesn’t know I’m here. He is only passing through. I won’t allow my life to change for a quick fly-by. Would you?