Everyday she sits on the same bench. The same bench that's been there since she was a little girl. She watches as people walk by. The people on their way to work. People in love. People travelling. Families. Children. So many faces.
Everyday she waits. He boarded that train years ago. He promised he would come back.
Everyday she goes back to her small, one-bedroom flat. Alone.
Everyday, for two years now, she gets up and walks to the train station to wait.
She knits.
She waits.
She writes articles for the Daily Prophet.
She waits.
She studies people.
She waits.
She makes small talk with strangers.
She waits.
She waits.
And waits.
And waits some more.
Will he ever come back?
Hour by hour, day by day, month by month she waits.
How much longer?
Eventually, after another year of waiting, she gives up.
He's not going to come back.
He promised, her heart is saying.
Her mind is telling her, You've waited long enough.
He left for Auror training five years ago today.
It's been years.
There's a knock on your door.
Do you answer it?
Hello, he says. It's been a long time.
Too long.
Much too long.
Did you expect me to keep waiting? She asks him.
He tips her chin up and says softly, I love you.
I love you too, her heart screams. Instead, she says, It's been five years.
I know. And I've loved you for twelve, he replies.
A single tear slips down her face.
I love you.