I peer out of the window, met with nothing but darkness and my own reflection, the building so silent and empty and I imagined only him and I are there.

"I think it's raining," I told him. I could see the drops beginning to splatter against the glass. "It's really raining." My eyes refocus and I can see the reflection of him through the window. He's watching me and he sees that I'm watching him. The moments stretch on and I think I keep repeating "I think it's raining" but I can't be sure.

He tries to teach me to stand properly, how to hit the ball, how to follow through. Sometimes I wonder now if the most important thing he'll ever teach me is how to play pool.

We walk out of the building. The rain had stopped, the streets black and gleaming. There's nothing more I want, nothing more than this perfect moment, him and I, walking on the rain drenched streets in the middle of the night. It begins raining again after a while and our pace doesn't quicken.

"You make me nervous," he says once. And I didn't expect it.


"I dunno. Our nonverbal communication."

But the silence continues.

We stood outside waiting for the taxi and there were so many things I needed to say, the unspoken words crushing my very chest. But instead I sat silently in the taxi, bidding goodbye to the city with my quiet tears.

The plane's arrived. He only nods, not looking at me but off in the distance, thoughtful. I want to scream at him, but instead, "I'd better go."

I embrace my sister, her husband, then turn to him. We hug and I hold in the words, the tears, and his smile is soft. As I begin walking away his lips move, just ever so slightly that I can imagine he mouths the words "I love you" but I can't be sure. I can never be sure. I can never be sure if it was real or just another illusion I've created.

All I can only be sure of loving him that night, walking in the rain.