Not Coming

It’s this heavy ache that has settled right there.
And it hasn’t gone away.
What a change from this morning.
I wake up full of expectation, eagerly anticipating the clock showing 7. Then I can leave this stifling place and be on my way.
Oh how I was looking forward to it.
It never once occurred to me this time that something would crop up. The one. The one time I let my guard down and this happens.
Maybe it’s not that big a deal to anyone else who’s reading this. After all, it’s just a few hours. You can spend those hours any other time too. And this definitely is not the first time our plans have screwed up in some way. Which makes me ask myself, why am I so affected this time?
Perhaps because this time, I have to return to an empty room. A room I had already spent the entire day in. When you’re stuck in a place for 10 hours straight, save a few trips to the toilet and canteen, you’re bound to want to escape. And of course, you waiting at the end just made it all the more sweeter.
I get the first message, and my heart dropped to my stomach. Postpone? How many times have I heard that word from you. And I’m trying to study my French, but all I feel like doing is curling up on the bed. Then you start talking about not getting my hopes up tomorrow. It sounds like you’re not even going to try to get the night off. Not get my hopes up? Please. Where you’re concerned, they still remain high in the air despite your trampling on them numerous times.
It’s strange how just the word ‘checking’ can give me hope. And I delude myself into thinking that you  can find a way out of this one. But you don’t. And then you don’t even bother to reply.
With a heavy heart I take a shower, get changed, think of how I would like to have donned this skirt, that top, that bangle for you.
The crazy thing is, I know deep down that you aren’t coming. Logically speaking, you aren’t coming. Then why is there the part of me that still hopes and waits. I keep glancing at my phone, hoping that it will beep and I’ll click open and I’ll read ‘hey. I managed to get out. Still wanna meet?’.
And so that part of me still makes me put on my new skirt. My nice green striped top. Fix my hair presentably. Spray Romance on my neck, my breasts, my wrists.
The message doesn’t come.
But still into my bag I pack my bio notes, enough to last an MRT ride. My Moonflower to freshen myself up and to use on you if you smell a little. My oil-blotters to keep my face clean.
The message doesn’t come.
I head off for my French oral. I do fantastically  well and she gives me a full score. But it’s over so fast. Soon I’m walking back and I realise I still have not heard from you. How fast the cheer fades.
I drag my feet back to the bus stop. The shuttle arrives and I actually miss it because I’m still pathetically hoping that a miracle will happen and you’ll say something.
By now I’ve moved on to waiting for a call. I’ll pick up and you’ll ask if I’m still free. And you’ll say great because you’re coming right over to pick me up so we won’t miss the dinner and movie.
But nothing happens. And so I reluctantly get on the next bus that will bring me back to my enclosure. I alight at the bus stop further away and walk the longer way back to the room. And I sit there at my desk waiting in my skirt and top.

And then I realise.

He’s not coming.