They were walking down Wimpole Street on a cloudy Friday afternoon, holding hands, laughing genuine laughs. 

He was wearing the jacket we bought from the flea market in Budapest. Starting a tad lower than his temple and running all the way down to his chin, a thinly populated colony of hair was making a strong case to be recognized as a beard. Dangling around his neck was a purple scarf, blatantly admitting that it didn’t belong there. From the bottom down, changes like the tailored, pleated trousers paired with sock-less monk strap shoes were accentuating the fact that this man had been going through some sort of life-changing experience.  

Right next to him, a slim female frame of no more than thirty years young was slowly yet steadily enforcing her presence in the open space. For quite some time, I purposely and successfully managed to avoid addressing her existence, but the moment they decided to cross the road and enter the immediate vicinity of my vision and vigilance, I had no choice but to engage in an in-depth evaluation. 

Ginger like curry powder and wavy like gravy, her hair was the key to which the wind was playing its afternoon soundtrack. Coming towards me, left foot in front of the right, right foot in front of the left, she was like a puma on a catwalk right before attacking its prey – calm, locked-in and aware of its beauty and supremacy. Tight jeans, black heels and blood red nail polish to match her lips, her appearance was revealing of her day job – enchantress.

Seeing your ex with their next is one of those moments that unite us as human beings. You play and replay that scenario in your head so many times, rearranging reactions and fine-tuning details in the hope you’ll be ready to deal with it when it actually happens.  

And then it does happen. And that’s the only scenario you didn’t prepare for.  

They were on the same pavement as me and the concrete under my feet felt like it hadn’t set properly. I loaded my prefrontal cortex with words of endearment like “Hey” and “How are you?”, so I could show them I was fine with it all, that I was cool with how awkward I felt. But I couldn’t pull the trigger. Breathing and talking suddenly became two mutually exclusive actions. Then there was walking on limbs heavy as fire extinguishers and trying to see through eyes drowning in salty water.  

20 feet. That was the distance between my present, my presence and my past.  

I closed my eyes and held my breath. That has always been my way of dealing with fear. When I jump in the water, when I watch a thriller, when I fall in love. When I opened my eyes, they were gone and so was the moment.  

I kept striding on through the throngs of rush hour. The city had a beautiful energy about it. It was Friday.