And then, as if my prayers have been answered like a miracle, I think I see him. Right in front of me, right at the end of the street that I'm on, so far in the distance, he's only a black blob. The blob of a black suit, I think, recognizing something of a silhouette that makes me so sure it's him. The person is carrying a bag, too. Just then a cab pulls up beside him.
No, I think. No, wait for me!
But it's no use. I don't have enough breath left in me to yell, to try and get his attention. I know even if he looks down this way, he might not even see me. As far away as I am, I can't even be fully sure that it's him, even when something in my heart says for absolute certainty that it is. It's only my heart that knows him, not my eyes.
I don't have the opportunity to yell out to him. I can only watch in horror as he pulls away, in the back of a car, to who knows where.
But there is some hope. I see the cab company, see the logo on the side. I know them well because they are a local firm that always sends out taxis around this area. That means I might have a chance. I run to the same spot on the sidewalk where he was and stick out my arm as another taxi flashes by it, hoping against hope that it just doesn't happen to have a passenger in the back seat right now.
It pulls up against the curb, filling my heart with hope.
I know that I can reach him if I try. I just have to get to the hotel at the same time as him, and I won’t have to search for him. I can tell him not to give up. Not to go home to Spain, at least not tonight. I can tell him to take me with him.
“One of your colleagues just picked up a man,” I say breathlessly. “From right here, at the same spot. I need you to take me to where he’s going.”
“I can’t do that,” the driver says, squinting at me in the rearview mirror. “That would be against our privacy policy. And the law.”
“Please,” I beg him, putting it all into my voice and my eyes, the pain, the heartbreak. “Please! He’s the man I love. He thinks there’s no chance for us, and he’s leaving. If I don’t catch him before he goes to the airport, I’ll never see him again. Please!”
The driver stares at me for a long moment, swears under his breath, and then presses some buttons on his screen. He must have access to information about all the other drivers on the same routes in this city because once he finds a map with a dot moving on it, he starts the car moving and pulls back out into traffic. I sit back in the seat and buckle myself in, so grateful to have found probably the only taxi driver in the city who would help me.
The drive is tense, full of worry as I think about the possibilities of what may happen. What if we don’t catch up to him in time? What if he goes straight to the airport instead of a hotel like he said? My dad's words were harsh. When I heard them, I had no doubt that he wasn't going to come around. So maybe Fernando feels the same, sees that it would be better for him to just get out of my life and leave me to a relationship with my father. But if that's what he thinks, he's wrong, because I only want a relationship with one man, even if I have to choose just one. And it’s not my father, it's him.
“Here,” the driver says, pulling up outside a hotel so fast the tires screech. “This is where he got off.”
“Thank you so much,” I gaps, throwing a few bills at him as I jump out of the car. I have a feeling I might have overpaid, but the driver deserves it – and all of the money I saved on my trip by being with Fernando was only going to waste. I drag my suitcase after me, my arm numb by this point, as I sprint into the lobby.
I’m wondering how I’m going to bribe the receptionist to tell me what room he’s in when I look to the side, and I see something that makes my heart almost stop. The elevator, the doors slowly closing – and him, inside it, looking down at something in his hand.
“Nando!” the word rips out of me like an arrow, flying straight towards him even as I start to run as fast as I can in his direction.