I walk slowly amongst a wave of people in the airport, my mind full of doubts. Letting out a slow breath, I shuffle towards the arrivals area. A lump forms in my throat as people push against me on both sides.
What if I can't find her? What if she can't find me?
And what if she didn't come after all?
I press on, straining my neck to see above the heads of others. I watch as two women embrace on my far left, one crying while trying to hold onto the bags slung around her shoulder. A voice speaks over the intercom, but I'm not listening. Conversations fly around me as I continue to walk forward.
I tramp a perpetual journey…
I scan the people filing out of a set of automatic doors and into the arrivals area. So many people I don't recognise, so many I will never see again…
My breath catches in my throat as my eyes stop on a girl. Her dark chestnut hair, which is longer than the last time I saw it, moves with her as she looks side to side, searching. A simple black suitcase trails behind her as I take in her image, her eyes, her mouth, her arms, her legs…
"Margo," I whisper to myself.
I stop somewhere waiting for you…
It takes a moment for me to fully realise that Margo, Margo Roth Spiegelman, is within my sight again. It also takes a moment for me to realise that I'm standing still while she's slowly roaming away from me, her eyes still searching, unaware of where I am.
"Margo!" I shout, waving my hand in the air. "Margo!"
I attempt to run forward, pushing through people who send me angry glares. Still, I press on.
"Margo!" I yell.
For a moment, I think that I've lost her again. That she will walk out of this airport without knowing that I was searching for her, not knowing that I'd called her name over and over again.
But then she turns.
And after she turns, her lips curve up into a smile.
"Margo," I say, less loudly this time.
"Q," I hear her reply.
Margo walks forward, and before long, I can see every detail of her. Her eyes that are as bright as ever despite the stains on her clothes.
And that's when I see the moisture in her eyes.
"Q," she says again, her voice cracking.
I pull her to me and hold her tight, her scent all around me, a scent that I haven't smelled in years.
We break apart and Margo wipes her eyes with her sleeve. Then she starts to walk away to the exit of the airport, gesturing with her hand that I should follow.
I pursue her, probably to another adventure that I will never forget.