She apologized for being late with a well-rehearsed excuse. I said nothing. Just smiled.
She wore black jeans and a black hoodie with beer caps squeezed around the drawstrings of her hoodie. I wore a colorful wool sweater, blue jeans, and a pink belt.
She asked me if we got our dream job in marketing, and I said, “Sort of. But we’re not just in marketing now. We’re founders.”
She asked why we did this.
“We wanted to make a difference in the world, so we had to do something different.”
She shrugged and asked if we at least were still into gaming. If we had played the latest World of Warcraft game.
“No,” I said, “but we still love gaming.”
“So it’s not something we grow out of?” she asked me.
“No,” I laughed. “Why do you think we have to grow out of what we love?”
She didn’t have an answer to that, but asked if we still love writing.
“More than ever,” I replied.
She asked if we ever published one of those fantasy novels we were always writing.
“Not yet, but someday. The stories still live in us.”
She asked if we still draw.
“Yes, more than before. But now we draw unicorns and princesses.”
She laughed and looked at me. “Why? We never liked that stuff.”
“Because we have a daughter now,” I said. “A little girl, five years old, full of life and emotions, and so, so worthy of love.”
She started to cry. I held her.
“Let it out,” I told her. “It’s okay.”
She wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at me.
“Okay, but do we still hate brunost and prim?”
“We can’t stand it.” I replied.
She smirked. “Good.”
She stirred her coffee absentmindedly, then hesitated before asking:
“Will the sadness in us ever go away?”
I met her gaze and shook my head.
“No. But we’ve made peace with it. We’ve learned that feeling deeply isn’t a curse – it’s a gift. It makes life richer. It makes love stronger. It makes words more powerful. And because we are safe now – because we know who we are – we also know that the sadness always passes. It always does.”
She blinked, unsure whether to believe me.
She will. One day.
