Zürich Stadelhofen

“Just five more minutes”, I think to myself.

There’s a weird, unknown feeling building up inside me. My heart rate has gone crazy to the point where I wonder if the people on the train can actually see it knocking through my chest. Nonsense! They’ve only noticed your incapability to sit still and leave your hair alone! My inner critic snaps back at me. I know she’s just as nervous as I am. After all, it’s been seven goddamn years.

I have thought about this moment countless times. I have written about it, too. It’s the day I finally get to see him again. My teenage summer-love and the one who still pops up in the back of my head whenever I’m one heartbreak away from never believing in romance again. It’s the well known tragedy of potential that couldn’t be due to distance. But I smile to myself, because that distance is getting smaller and smaller by the second.

One more stop.

The mother sitting across me is feeding avocado slices to her daughter. Desperate to distract my mind at any cost, I focus my attention on the little toddler that seems to be having quite the challenge with her snack and smudges it all over her tiny face. I give her mother my best “aww”-face and feel the train slowing down. We’re here. The female voice announces the stop with a funny swiss accent: “Zürich Stadelhofen.”

I grab my coat and bag, take a deep breath and step out of the wagon. The spring-air fills my lungs and I realise that the fancy black coat I only use for special occasions won’t be of much use after all. How delightful. I have loved the winter, but this February sun is reminding me of a pretty great summer back in 2014. I check my phone and his name pops up. “I’m right here!” says the text, and the photo he sends me shows the train I just arrived in. My nerves have gone crazy by now and every possible dialogue I could have with him enters my mind at once. Jesus Christ.

There’s still a quick walk through the train station to get to where he is, and I look for the nearest escalators. As I’m about to descend I catch a glimpse of him, knowing that he can’t see me from where he’s standing. Blonde hair, black leather jacket and nervously checking his phone every 3 seconds. Maybe it’s not just me. The thought makes me smile as I stumble through the way, finding myself dramatically looking at the last escalators that’ll take me to the exit.

It’s been seven years. I’m not a teenager anymore but life has certainly turned me into a woman I can feel proud of. As I’m finally outside, the sun dazzles me for a second, but I recognise his silhouette. With his attention still on the phone, I decide to do my excitement justice and playfully run in his direction. He looks up and his eyes meet mine.