Late

4:02pm
He should be here by now. What if his parents had found out? What if something had happened to him? Breathe. It’s fine. He is fine. He’s just late.
4:03pm
I open my phone and scroll up.
“Just clarifying @ library @ 4” - Noah
“Yep :)” - Me
“Where do I meet u?” - Noah
“There’s an Environment and Science aisle near the back” - Me
“Wow Louis. Vry sentimental” - Noah
3 minutes late. Sure, that might not be a big deal to most people, but I am never late. I don’t think I could ever be late. I’m not being unreasonable. Let’s be honest. There are millions of possibilities of where he could be right now. At home, in detention, in hospital, getting admitted into a gang, being held at gunpoint. The list is endless.
4:04pm
The minutes tick by like a bomb, waiting to explode. I feel like I am seconds from exploding. 4 minutes late. Something has to be wrong. I want to call him but I don’t want to pester. I don’t want to be a nuisance. I don’t want him to stop loving me because I’m too overbearing, too annoying, too anxious, too… my phone buzzes, so I look down.
“I’m running late. I’ll be there in a few minutes” - Noah

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