He comes to her on a Tuesday morning. She reflects on the fact that he left her on a Tuesday morning. She pays this fact no mind, however, as he makes his way to her. He's as perfect as the day she met him.
She knows why he's here. It's been eleven years. For those eleven years that have passed, she's been by herself. She's lived her life by her rules, with no one to attempt to tell her how to live her life. It's been just her and his memory.
He takes her hand and she can see in his eyes the pain. There is pain from that day, quite obviously. However, there is also pain from seeing her live her life by her rules and with his memory. There is a pain that speaks volumes of how he feels about her rejecting every man that comes her way.
His best friend didn't mean to fall for her, he tells her. It was something that really wasn't supposed to happen. But it did, he reminds her. And if she wants to move on, she has his permission. He won't hold her back. He tells her all of this without shedding a tear.
She wishes she could say the same for herself.
Her tears had already begun to fall when he appeared. His scruff was still there. For that she was thankful. She had always admired his look – rugged, but still innocent – and the fact that his appearance had not changed comforted her.
This was the face she saw each night before she went to bed. These eyes stared at her as she drifted off to a fitful sleep every night for eleven years. She'd loved him for eleven years – she could admit it – and she held tightly to the memory of the way he used to look at her.
Just like he was now. His eyes held such love – such pure, unadulterated love – and she was completely overwhelmed.
"He loves you," he says to her. "Don't fault him for that."
She chokes back a sob. Of course he would stand up for his best friend. Of course he would encourage her to move on.
"But, I…" she can barely finish her thought. His presence has thrown her. Of all the people – the images – she had thought she would see today, he was not one.
She should have expected it, though. Every year on this day she has this image of him. It was only a matter of time before he actually showed up. She's thankful, in a way, when he shows up on a Tuesday. That, after all, was the exact day she'd lost him. It was the last time she'd heard his voice, the last time she'd felt his touch.
And now here, on this Tuesday, she heard his voice loud and clear. She felt his hands as they clasped hers within them. She memorized his eyes again. She took in everything about him before he could leave. She listened so intently to the sound of his voice. It was the one thing she'd admit could bring her to tears.
Just like it was doing now. He brushes away her tears. He kisses them away so gently. She tangles her fingers through his messy hair. She holds so tightly to him. She prays that the last eleven years have been a dream. That none of it actually happened.
He rests his hands on top of hers. He squeezes them tightly. She knows this is real. She knows he's not a figment of her imagination. He's really here. She's really here with him. He's really holding her and kissing her gently.
"I have to go," he whispers.
She shakes her head. "No. You can't."
"I have to go," he repeats. His voice is weak when he says it. She knows he doesn't want to leave. "He'll be back shortly. It's time. It's time for you to move on."
She shakes her head again, this time more violently. "No. I can't. I just… I can't."
He smiles at her and kisses her forehead. "You can. You will."
He stands. She follows. He is standing at the window and the sun illuminates him. She forces a smile. He tangles his fingers in her hair.
"Tell him," he says. "Tell him how you feel. I'll wait for you there."
She nods. "I… Okay."
"I love you," he whispers, just as the sun peeks over the neighboring building. He kisses her softly.
She returns his kiss just as the sun shines brightly through the window. "I love you, too."
As quickly as he had appeared, he is gone. She is left standing in the illuminated window. She couldn't think of a better way to spend this particular anniversary than with him.
His best friend walks in just moments after carrying a paper bag. She knows he's come bearing a bagel for her. He also has a cup of coffee in his hand for her as well.
"I thought you'd want to spend some time alone before…" he doesn't finish. They both have that scar. It's a burden they share. It is, after all, what brought them together. His death has brought them together. His visit has made her realize that she can move on with this person because his best friend knows the pain. His best friend knows what she goes through every day.
She sits beside this boy – this man – and rests her hand on his. "Thank you." She laces her fingers through his and rests her forehead against his.
"I can't be him," he says to her. "I'll never be him. But, I… I want to be with you. I think he'd be okay with it. I think."
She nods and yet again is forced to choke back a sob. "He wouldn't have it any other way."
She will never commemorate this awful day alone ever again. She'll never have to live her life by just her rules ever again. She'll always have his memories, yes. She'll never recover from losing him so abruptly, either. But she'll have this man by her side.
He kisses her softly, and for a split second she wishes it was him kissing her, but she knows that this feels right, too. He'll never have his eyes, or his messy hair, or his scruff.
But he'll have her heart. At least until she reaches the other side. She can't promise him any more than this life, and she knows he knows that. She knows he understands that.
She kisses him quickly, and then proceeds to get out their bagels and coffee. She sets the table with the beverages and food and they enjoy a breakfast that is not unlike the one they would have shared eleven years ago.
Somewhere far off, they hear the tolling of the bells. The clock strikes 10:18.