Almost there. A little more distance only.

I reached the atrium and placed myself at an angle.

This is where he said I should meet him.

He told me what color he would be wearing, where he would stand and what he would do to make me sure it was him.

I was early, my normal practice. I always reach a place ahead of time so I could take note of everything.

It’s past the time we had agreed upon.

I glance around, trying to see through the crowds.

I sense him behind me.

I turn.

Oh, oh, oh…

*Friday Fictioneers is talented group of enthusiasts penning down a story, a poem, a prose, etc., expressing their heart about a photo prompt © Roger Bultot