Timing is Everything

They always just missed each other.

He left the bookstore minutes before she arrived. She sat at their favorite café the day after he stopped going. He strolled through the park hours after she had left a note on their bench.

One day, she sighed, scribbling: I wish we’d get the timing right.

The next week, she returned. The note was gone.

Instead, he was there, holding it.

Finally, at the same time.