“I don’t think you understand, bruv,” answers the punk girl. “The love of his life’s about to fly off to god knows where, and all this man wants to do is tell her how he feels. Are you really gonna stop him? What’s the world even come to?” She lets go of my arm and starts waving her hands around in theair.
“I’m going to need you to calm down miss, and you’ll both need to head to the back of the line or I’ll have youremoved.”
Punk girl puts her hands on her hips. “We’re already at the front. All these people want to see this man succeed. The will of the people stands behind him. Don’t it,mates?”
She turns to stare at the family in line behind us and glares until they give a few sheepishnods.
The guard sighs and shakes his head. “Next time you wait like everyone else. If I see you doing any other disruptive things, you’re out of this airport,understand?”
He steps aside and then I’m being tugged along by the armagain.
“Uh, thanks,” I manage to say, as the tiny punk hoists a tattered backpack onto the conveyor belt leading to the nearest bag scanner. “That was very nice of you. Very unexpected and weird, but also verynice.”
She shrugs. “I was just late for my flight, mate, but good luck with thegirl.”
I was so wrapped up in the weirdness of the past few minutes I almost forgot why I’m here. I rush through the remainder of the security check and finally make it out to thegates.
Six. Numbersix.
I scan the signs indicating where I should go and take off running down the crowded corridor. A guard shouts at me to slow down and I force myself to speed-walk for a few moments before breaking out into a sprint again the second he’s out ofsight.
Why are the smallest gate numbers farthest away? That doesn’t even makesense.
I pass under a huge overhead board with all the upcoming flight information. A quick glance tells me the Lisbon flight is boarding now. I runfaster.
When I get to gate six, everyone is already in line to get on the plane. I slow to a walk and scan the dozens of people clutching boarding passes, searching for her telltale mass of hair. I spot her standing just three people from the front. One of her hands clutches the handle of a small, navy blue suitcase. She has her back to me, but I know it’sher.
“Christina!” Ishout.
She turns and I watch her look around in confusion before her eyes land on me. Her mouth fallsopen.
“Christina!” I call again. My feet feel frozen to the spot and I don’t think I can move anycloser.
She steps out of the line and heads towards me, suitcase wheeling along behind her. There’s nothing in her expression butconfusion.
“Aaron?” she asks, when she’s close enough that she doesn’t need to shout. “I don’t...What areyou...”
She trails off, looking me up and down and then glancing behind me, as if she’s trying to determine whether or not I’m reallyhere.
“I needed—” I have to stop and swallow down the lump in my throat. “I needed to seeyou.”
“How did you know I was here?” Her eyes are wide. “How did you even getinhere? Whatdid—”
I cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. Look, Christina, I know you don’t want to listen to me. I didn’t come here to make you listen. I just want you tolook.”
I’m still holding the folder of photos, miraculously intact after all the running around and battling through crowds. I hold it out and she takes it in herhands.
“What isthis?”
“Justlook.”
She opens the folder and I keep my eyes fixed on her face, waiting for a reaction as she stares at the first image. Her features don’t give anything away and I hold my breath as she shifts to the next photo, lifting the folder higher and leaning forwards so that her hair blocks whatever expression she now wears from myview.
She shuffles through each of the images, and by the time she’s done her hands have started to shake, but without seeing her face I can’t tell if she’s trembling with anger or somethingelse.
“Aaron,” she says in a soft voice, without lifting her head up, “theseare—”
“The truth,” I tell her firmly. “Whatever you see in those photos, it’s the truth. That’s how I feel about you. I can’t lie when I’m behind acamera.”
