It's just an ordinary day. Seven months, two weeks, and five days have passed since I saw him for the very last time on Bad Wolf Bay and confessed my love for him, him vanishing before being able to return the gesture.
I'm out with Mum. We're on a long, slow walk around the area where I live now, sometimes stopping outside shop displays for a short amount of time before once again laying a steady beat on the grey pavement, our paces matching perfectly. That's the only sound out here. My family is one of the very few who aren't afraid of being anywhere near London during the Christmas season. I don't mind. I like the silence; it gives me an excuse to lose myself in my mind, which is filled with wonderful things, and terrible things, and the best thing of all: my Doctor.

I could sit in the same place for hours at a time, replaying our story over and over in my head. And I have before. I hate it when I'm shaken out of the trance, which is a drug itself to me. Mickey usually interrupts me before anyone else dares; he has always worried about me too much. I think Mum feels sorry for me, and she lets me be, for which I am grateful. Pete, well, Pete's still getting used to me. He's never been a father before, and he doesn't know what to think or do, so he avoids me in my hours of oblivion.

So this is Mum's way of 'helping' me: dragging me out here into the cold, her only excuse being that she, pregnant, must exercise, and I can keep her company. I know she's just trying to help me, but I don't think she understands that in times like this, I just want to be left alone.

I know someday I'll have to move on, but I can't imagine going back to a 'normal' life. After everything I've seen and done and loved, I don't think I could. The Doctor showed me a better way of living your life, and now he's gone. He changed me, so much, I doubt even Shareen would recognize me. If I could ever see her again.
Instead of letting me continue to think, Mum just has to break the silence.

"Rose?" Her voice is filled with anxiety. I sigh. I will have to answer this time, instead of ignoring her voice and continuing to explore my mind, as I usually do.

"Yes, mum?" I don't have imagine the relief flooding through her body. It's plain as day on her delicate features as she hears the quite rare sound of my tired voice.

"How are you?" My mother asks. I don't feel like talking, so I give the first apathetic answer that comes to mind.

"Uh.. I'm fine."

"No, but really, how are you?" She stops walking and turns towards me, picking up my hands and cupping them in hers, her eyes boring into mine and searching for the truth. Staring back into hers, I understand that the simple 'how are you?' means so much more. My mother, who fears for my wellbeing, wants to know how I'm feeling, how I'm doing, how I'm coping with this universe. Looking directly at her, and feeling like a small child in her mother's arms, I blurt out without thinking, "I'm not good at all, Mum." My eyes threaten to well up with tears, but I know there are no more left to cry.

Mum's small hands let go of mine and reach up to stroke my hair. She smoothes out my blonde waves and straightens my jacket, which is about to slip down my shoulders. After adjusting my features, she takes my hands in hers once more. She squeezes them gently

"Rose," she begins, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, "I know how it feels to lose someone you love. And I know I can't help you stop grieving. I know there's no point in trying to snap you out of it. So, I just want you to know that I'm right here for you, whenever you need somebody to talk to."

"Mum, can we- can we talk now? Maybe this is what I need; to talk to someone. To have them just listen to my story, and nothing else. Just... listen."

"Of course, love." We walk over to one of the tables in the front of a restaurant and sit down. My mum makes herself comfortable- as comfortable as you can get on a metal booth, and I scoot around so I'm across from her.

"Okay. I'm listening," she says softly. I look around. We're the only ones on the street. I could scream if I wanted to, I realise. But that would be stupid. I sigh, attempting, with no success, to gather my thoughts.

"Mum, I don't even know where to start." So many emotions are flying around my head, I have trouble thinking.

"Why don't you tell me about him? I never knew him very well, and maybe I misjudged him. What was he like when I didn't see him, whenever you two were traveling, having adventures?"

"Oh, Mum, he's wonderful!" I exclaim, remembering my Doctor's taudry quirks. "Honestly, I think you brought out the worst in him." I laugh, and Mum smiles softly. "Like, he has these glasses - he calls them his 'brainy specs' - he uses when he's examining something in front of people, but secretly, he only wears them because he thinks they make him look clever. And when he gets really excited about something, his voice gets higher, and he'll smile with his mouth open and giggle. And, oh, he can dance!" I exclaim. "Gosh, he can dancea like a professional- which I'm sure he was, at one point... The TARDIS would design a different room for us every time we ate a meal. Sometimes she would put us in a ballroom and play music, and he'd spin me around the floor like I weighed nothing.

"And the way he used to look at me when we were alone, like I was the most important thing in the universe to him. In all the universes," I add. Remembering my Doctor makes me feel better, and for a moment I imagine I can hear the high-pitched hum of the TARDIS.

And then I realise it's not my imagination.