He has come so far.

What if it's all for nothing?

She puts on comfy clothes. A t-shirt and sweatpants. She wants him to see her as she is. She brushes her hair and leaves her face bare, the way she always does.

30 minutes.

She paces the floor a little and fusses her cat, who has twined himself around her foot, trying to trip her for attention.

20 minutes.

She needs distraction. She picks up a book but soon finds that her mind wanders back to him. His smell. The raspiness of his unshaven cheek, his shoulders, his hands, his mouth. She begins to ache a little, forgetting that in less than 15 minutes she'll have them. She gets up and goes out to the yard for a moment, into the crisp March air, and tries to clear her busy mind of all its fears and misgivings. All the what ifs. She tries to be still, in the moment.

Ten minutes.

Impatience wins and she goes back inside. She avoids looking in the mirror in case she panics and tries to change a thousand times. Change her clothes, her hair, herself. She thinks instead about the first moment. Holding his face in her hands, smelling his skin, pressing her face against his raspy cheek, feeling his shoulders, his hands pressed against her back. His mouth. How he tastes in the crisp March air.

Five minutes.

Would it be for good this time? Would he be real? Would she?

One Minute.

She heads to the kitchen for a glass of water to calm her churning stomach. Her nerves are so raw she can hardly hold the glass, and nearly drops it when the buzzer sounds. Tears spring to her eyes as she presses the release to open the door.

Zero.

She puts on her coat and shoes and readies herself to go out into the courtyard to meet him. A smile spreads through the tears and crazy nerves and she walks out the front door, into the sunlight, into life, into the crisp March air, where yellow meets black and she begins a whole new era, where he is waiting.