For the past week, since meeting that boy, I’ve been waiting every day for him to knock on my door. Something tells me he’s in trouble, but why doesn’t he come looking for me? When I climb the stairs of my building, I believe that when I reach my door, he’ll be waiting for me. But, unfortunately, none of that has happened. I remember his startled and desperate look under the cold sky. His eyes wide with astonishment at my reaction. His trembling voice. The hug. I’m still waiting for him to knock on my door.
I had just thought that when the doorbell rang.
Ding Dong Ding Dong
I froze. Could it be him? Why had he taken so long to come? I ran out, tripping over my shoes, which were half-shod on. I bumped into the corner of the desk. I hurt my little toe. It bled, but in the rush I didn't even notice, due to the adrenaline. I let out a few murmurs and continued across the room. It had never felt so big; it seemed like I was crossing the Hall of Mirrors. After an eternity and after a second ring of the bell, I reached the door. Locked. I shouted:
"Wait a minute. I lost the key. I'll open it in a minute. Five minutes?!
"Okay."
My heart was pounding in my chest when I put the key in. I turned it the first time with trembling hands. The second time, I was sweating cold. I turned the doorknob and couldn't believe who was at the door.