People always told Fia that it would hurt at night and that screaming into your pillow at three o’clock in the morning, was apparently the romantic equivalent of being heartbroken. 

But she realised that day, whilst locked away in a cubicle; that sometimes it was 10am on a Tuesday morning in a public coffeehouse, the smell of dusty sunlight and his Earl Gray tea that makes you miss him so much you don’t know what to do with your hands.