Coffee with Anneka

She wanted to meet at a café near Termini. Neutral ground, I suppose. Neither of us claiming territory.

We sat for three hours. Three hours and we talked about everything—her work (something with the UN), my trauma (I don't usually tell people this), Rome, Naples, what it means to be a woman in Italy, the things we've lost and the things we're still looking for.

She's smart. Genuinely intelligent in a way that has nothing to do with credentials or accomplishments and everything to do with the way she thinks about things. She asks real questions.

At one point she reached across the table and took my hand. Just held it. Didn't say anything. Just held it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I started crying. Just like that. In the middle of a café with tourists and other people around. And she didn't let go. She just sat there with me and didn't try to fix it or make it weird.

When I finally managed to speak I told her about him. About what happened five years ago. About the nightmares and the hypervigilance and the way certain movements or smells can throw me back into that moment like no time has passed at all.

She listened. She didn't offer platitudes or try to convince me that it wasn't that bad or that I should be "over it by now." She just listened.

When she finally spoke, she said: "Thank you for trusting me with that. I know what it costs."

I think I'm falling in love with her. Or at least in love with the possibility of her. With the way she sees me and doesn't look away.

Is that enough? Can I build something real on that?