I see him first as sunlight dances its way across the quadrant, as he emerges from the door opposite me. Around me the Sisters tend to the greens that form the foundation of our dinner table and I catch his eye as with sturdy, disciplined steps he walks towards me.
As he continues his journey, I see him nod and say 'hello' and the warm greeting that he gets from each of the Sisters, each of my friends as they toil in the sun.
He arrives and sits next to me on the step as I await my next call. He does not kiss me or hold my hand and I can barely feel the touch of his knee against mine through our combination of blue dress and dark trousers. He knows that despite the undeniable fact he is now part of Nonnatus and part of me, the wrath of the Sisters was one that no sane man would want to incur so I understand why he greets me with little more than smile. He refrains from anything more than that modicum of contact. He shows so much respect and I realise that that is simply 'him'.
I smile too as he produces two biscuits he has clearly smuggled from the kitchen cupboard. I take mine. He knows me already.
He asks me if I am well. I am. I am well. He asks if I am sure and I am thrown for a moment. We have not seen each other for 3 days; 3 seemingly endless days when waking each morning I wanted to transport myself back in time.
He must mean our encounter, our moment. I have reflected on that evening many a time in these last hours. It's meaning to me; it's connotation to us and I find nothing within it that I can regret. Shame does not touch me and disquiet, for once, does not rear its tentative head at my shoulder. This must be what love is; the fact that we sit here and he barely says a word to me but his company is all I need.
As we sit side by side, basking in the sunlight, I assure him that I could not be better.
