He always made her wait.
The type to always think better of people, she first told herself that it was just something he wasn’t consciously aware of, and that over time he’d change.
But weeks turned into months and he was as late as ever.
He had a myriad of excuses. Traffic jam, road accident, errand for his mother, errand for his father, alarm didn’t go off for some reason, wall clock stopped working, sister needed to be picked up, brother needed to be dropped off, friend emergency, coworker emergency… the list simply went on.
Why couldn’t he just say that they were meeting at seven, if he still had something to do at six? Why did he have to tell her he was picking her up at six, and then make her wait for another hour before saying he was on his way but was caught in a jam?
One time she finally had the courage to ask, “What about me? What about my time?”
But he’d guilt-trip her and answered, “I thought you’d understand.”
Of course she understood. But she thought he did, too.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.