A familiar envelope design caught your attention as you tossed the mail carefully across the table. Your fingers brushed a faint stain on the wood, as faded as the stack of papers sitting on your countertop. If you looked closely, the stain formed a pale ring and was as wide as the base of your favorite coffee mug. You returned your attention to the envelope, tearing it open with gentle motions. The paper was wrinkled slightly and damp at the edges. Shaky hands, postage carriers, and weather rendered it perfectly imperfect, and you smiled even before opening it to read the contents.

It’s been a long time hasn’t it? I miss you every day. I’m sorry I couldn’t write to you the last few weeks. You haven’t forgotten me yet right? You smiled slightly. Admittedly, there were details about him you couldn’t remember anymore. It had been nearly two years, and you feared that if you heard his voice, you might not recognize it anymore. Was it different from when you last spoke? Phone conversations altered everyone’s voices to nearly the same thing. You could faintly remember how his arms felt encircling you, but wouldn’t be able to name a touch as his. Your eyes blinked gently, yielding no tears. Almost two years, and you were desensitized. He’d be home soon enough.

I haven’t forgotten you, of course. He talked enthusiastically about something that had amused him last week, mentioning names and locations you couldn’t understand. Your hand brushed over the paper again, your smile returning. This was an optimistic letter, a happy one. Some weeks he was miserable: homesick and unsettled with worry marking every word. With this message he offered hope, and reassured you he was doing well.

I’m coming home soon! On the thirtieth. You counted in your head. Thirteen days? After about seven hundred, two weeks was nearly nothing. Admittedly, you had stopped counting after the first few weeks. It was discouraging and depressing to see the numbers move by only one per day. Thirteen days.

Thirteen. The number repeated in your head like a song, an addicting rhythm that captivated your attention.

***

Eleven. Days spilled by slowly, each minute dragging with the sensation of five. This is why you had stopped counting days. Hope made time pass at its leisure, viciously slow.

You were awakened from your pensive daze by the ring of the telephone. Like a startled animal you leaped from the chair, grabbing the phone before finishing the second ring.

“Hello?”

No response. The other person hung up as soon as they heard your voice. You shrugged, returning the phone to its charger and sitting down once again. Wrong number, you thought. You stacked the mail carefully in a pile before returning to your seat.

Sighing, you ran your finger along the tabletop, tracing the grooves and marks in the wood. There was no work today. No appointments, no meetings, and nothing to distract you from the clock’s taunting tick.

The front door rattled, your head turning quickly in its direction. Confused concern began to creep its way through your mind. Why would someone be coming in? The only other person with a key is-

Your thoughts ended abruptly the moment the mystery visitor walked in the door. Time seemed to stop completely, and your heart ceased to beat momentarily.

“Are you here?!” The voice you had been yearning to hear echoed cheerfully off of the kitchen walls. You ran towards him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t come back until…”

“I wanted to surprise you!” he hugged you back tightly, with a nearly crushing force. A flood of words came forth on your tongue, tangling and stumbling until no sentences would form. He gave you no time to process the moment before pressing his lips softly to yours. You smiled slightly. Finally, you could remember his touch. Your arms tightened around his neck, pulling him as you were physically capable.

“I missed you,” you said, trying to convey the thoughts scampering erratically through your brain. He smoothed your hair back, tipping your chin and allowing his eyes to pierce yours.

“I know.” He sat down on the couch, pulling you into his lap. Silence enveloped the room, but you didn’t complain. Catching up could be done later; you had the rest of your lives.