It's today. After all the late night Skype calls and long phone calls it's here. The day I meet Phil. My palms are sweating and my feet won't keep still, pacing back and forth on the train station platform. It would be so much easier if I knew where we stood, if I knew whether this 'relationship' leaned more towards friendship or romance. I pace a little faster. I hear the sound of a train and my head whips round, my pathetic eyes darting towards the tracks. It's my train. My breathing hitches a little. You see, I've only ever seen pixelated Phil, the one through the screen, the one smiling in the photos, the one crackling on my Skype screen and I have only ever spoken to online Phil, the one who has time to organise his thoughts before they topple out of his mouth. And what if that Phil isn't the one stood at the train station? What is it's awkward and stilted? I board the train, wading through the aisle in an attempt to find a free seat. I spot one in the corner, rain dribbling down the window. I sit down. I worry some more. Somewhere deep inside me there is still that young fan, the one who looked up to Phil more than anything, the one who desperately wanted to get noticed. 'You've grown since then', I tell myself, but the truth is that feeling of awe for Phil is a flame that will flicker but never quite go out. The train chugs into motion and I hear the wheels on the tracks. Normally I find this soothing, a routine, a structure but today it seems to be grating at my ears, making the knot in my stomach grow tighter. I'm actually going to see him. A smile plays its way onto my lips. He's going to be real. He's going to wrap his arms around me. The flame seems to be growing brighter, I try and quell it. It's just a normal day, you're just meeting a friend. I take my phone from my pocket and unravel my headphones, putting them in my ears and letting the music flow. But it's no good. Every song reminds me of Phil. I settle for looking out the window. The journey goes faster than expected and before long we are pulling into the station at Manchester. I panic. I had banked on getting time to think on the train but now I am here and so is he and what am I doing? I am shaking as I step out into the aisle and off the train. My foot thuds against the concrete. I force my feet to walk. And then I see him, slightly taller than I imagined, his black hair poking out amongst the coloured croud. His eyes fall on me and he smiles. And I know it will be okay.