Under This Roof

Epilogue

*AN:

Kind reminder that the epilogue is written in Harry's point of view.

Thank you for sticking around to the end of this story.*

31 May 2015.

I enter the taxi and give him the address. I take a look at my watch. I think I am going to be late. I reposition myself inside the cab to see my hair and face in the mirror of the car. I look fine. I hope I do. I smile. Yes, the smile looks fine as well.

In around 20 minutes, I will be meeting the love of my life.

She does not know it yet. That she is the love of my life. And I do not know if I will tell her. 

She does know that she will be seeing me. We texted about it.

She has been texting me since the day she left. Her and I never really went out of touch. Not for long, at least.

There is no title to what we are. None at all. I do not think they had any idea something like that would be happening for real when they invented all the dating stages and their vocabulary.

But there is a title for what she is to me; she is the love of my life.

I feel towards her what I did not feel and will never be feeling towards anyone else. After some time of her leaving, I tried to go back to my normal life, my original life, the one I had before her. And when that did not work in any way, and when she was always there to remind me how it felt to chat with her and her only, I decided that the definition to 'the love of your life' is 'the person who has a place in your heart that you are certain no one else can fill. Even if you move on with your life. It is still there. Always.'

And that is what she did to me. She left me with a piece of her inside. It broke my heart. But it also made me incapable of moving on. Not in any way. I was not sad all the time. There were moments when I was. But not all the time. I was just... incomplete.

Every time that a good or bad event happened in my life for the past year, I used to do as she asked me. I used to read the letter she left me. The letter that has become a symbol of her presence with me. I remember very well the day I found that letter. On December 23rd. It had been a couple of months since she left. She probably thought I would find it sooner. But I did not. I was taking out a sweater and the paper fell on the ground. I grabbed it and directly recognized her handwriting. I hated myself that day for not having found it sooner. I hated myself for not having kept it with me when I really needed it. When she had just left me.

Harry...

I loved how she said my name. I heard it in her voice every time that I opened the paper.

Know that it breaks my heart having to have that written for you, and to not be saying it every time that you might need to hear it.

But I called her one time at midnight, when I was feeling down, and asked her if she could say the words to me. And she did. And I fell asleep listening to them.

What I feel for you, - and yes, I say feel, in the present tense because this is an everlasting truth - is a fire that I cannot tame. Not because of the rush you make me feel. And the accelerating heartbeats. But because of how true you are, and how true this is.

There are a few things I would like you to know:

First, know that you can reach out to me any time and any where. I am here for you. When it is hurtful for you to talk to me, I will stay in the shadows and will not approach. But I will still be there. And when it is pleasant or comforting for you to talk to me, I can sneak out from my hiding place and come to you.