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The Wait

Finally. He heard the familiar rustle at his doorstep. It must be her. He could see her shadow moving under the door. He waited for the keys to jangle. The door knob to turn. What's taking her so long? She must be carrying something. Sometimes she picks up stuff on her way back. There will be something for me, as always. Or has she forgotten the keys in the car? She is quite capable of that. He was getting a bit impatient now. What's stopping her from opening that door? The door seemed like a bottomless chasm between him and her. Will she cross it? Or shall I just cross it and meet her? What if it's not her? What's taking her so long to open that door? Why can't she make some familiar sound that will tell me for sure that it's her? Why is she silent? Why isn't the doorbell ringing if it's not her? Why? His impatience was delivering knockout punches to reasoning in rapid succession. What if... that was the last thing that passed through his mind before he heard the key turn in the lock.

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