Work Text:
David stared out the window of his mother’s rickety car as they drove through the affluent part of the neighbourhood. The castles people called houses glared haughtily down as if asking why a car of such condition was driving on the pristine road. He checked his watch for what was the ninth time that minute, calculating if they would reach in time.
David knew these roads like the back of his hand. He was six years old when he would cycle to her house and call her out to go play. Seven, when she told him she wanted to run away with him because her father didn’t like him. Nine, when her father told him to never return to their house again and ten, when they stopped talking altogether.
He remembered those insignificant conversations they had, and remembered calling her every day and then getting lectured by his mother for making the phone bill go through the roof. He also remembered receiving the lucky seat next to her and being constantly scolded by the teacher when they get carried away with their conversations.
The road seemed to be endless as his mother twisted and turned. The old car wheezed and the soft leather creased as he shifted on his seat. He realised he had been clutching her gift so tight that his fingers were pressed white and released them.
David vividly remembers when he went over the day after her father sent him home, but this time, no one replied to his calls. Passing her in school was devoid of greetings, but instead replaced with deafening silence. He missed having the late night conversations and the early morning greetings.
Being the last person he talked to at night and the first in the morning, he missed her, most of all. He wouldn’t say it to her, but he even missed the times when they fought, because they were still talking, at the very least. At last, the car came to a stop in front of the familiar brick steps and ivy-adorned walls. He thanked his mother and stepped out.
She was already standing at the door, waiting for him.
“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she said, eyes sparkling.
David shrugged, eyes still glued to the face he had missed for seven years.
“I received an invitation,” he said ,” and I didn’t want to disappoint the birthday girl. Why invite me this year?”
“Would it be too late to say I missed you?”