I plodded out of my bedroom, stretched and rubbed my eyes. I was still weary from sleep and I shivered as my barefoot touched the pinewood floor, the cold creeping up my body. Rubbing my arms, I attempted to keep warm but the stillness of the apartment magnified the chill. As I walked pass a wall of heavy drapes, my hand instinctively flicked the switch next to it. There was a whir of motors and the drapes slowly moved apart, very much like an old man trudging along. Light seeped through the cracks and the living room gradually filled with the warmth of the morning sun.

I walked into the kitchen - a kitchen which looked almost brand new owing to the fact that I had hardly ever (no, make that never) cooked a meal in. My hand pulled open a cabinet door, revealing a refrigerator. Inside, 2 cartons of orange juice, a carton of milk, half a dozen cans of beer, an unfinished bottle of wine white and a plastic container filled with carrot sticks greeted me. I picked up the carton of milk, opened it and gingerly brought it closer for a sniff. “Eww!” My face screwed up immediately at the pong of curdled milk. I quickly poured the contents down the sink and chucked away the carton. Then I grabbed one of the OJs instead and went back into the living room.

The wall that the drapes once covered now exposed big glass doors that led out into a balcony. I opened them and stepped out into the crisp, cool air. I took a gulp of the OJ from the carton, not bothered with the formalities of using a glass, and stared out across the bay. A smile slowly crept onto my face as I thought about what today would bring. I found it hard to believe that after all these years, I was finally going to see her again. True, we had kept in touch through mail and phone, but nothing could ever beat the thrill of actually having her here by my side.

She had called a month ago, saying that she had just accepted a job in Hong Kong. My heart skipped a beat when I heard the news. She was coming back for good. I was totally overjoyed. The excitement in her voice when she exclaimed, “I’m coming home!”, filled me with emotions I hadn’t felt in a long while. When she decided to remain in Australia after graduation, I was devastated. I would have given anything to remain with her, but I had to return to Hong Kong. There were responsibilities I had to come back to - responsibilities that I could not shun, no matter what. I had missed her so much. And now, now that she was coming back, I would never let her leave again. I wanted her by my side. I wanted her with me all the time. I...wanted her. So when she asked me to help her look for a place to stay, I had immediately offered her mine. After all, there was a spare room and 2700 sq. feet of space.

I remembered the first time we met. We were both only 15 and already we were thrust into the rigidity and unfamiliarity that was boarding school. Her eyes were what captivated me. They were filled with all the sparkle and twinkle of mischief. When she smiled, it was as if her eyes smiled along as well. If I had known it then, I would probably have called it, love at first sight. We became fast friends and I felt like a doting puppy, following her around wherever she went. I did everything she did, whether or not I enjoyed it. All I knew then was that I had to be with her - no matter where she went or what she did. I wanted to share her joys, her hopes and her fears. I wanted her so badly it started to scare me. But of course, she never knew, never even suspected. I was her best friend - the one whom she would and could always turn to when she was down, when she needed someone to talk to. I was there when she started dating. I was there when she introduced me to her first steady boyfriend. I was there when she had her first heartbreak. Oh, how it broke my heart too when I saw her crying her eyes out.

She told me practically everything about herself, and the more I knew, the more I fell for her. As each day passed, my love grew stronger. How I yearned to hold her in my arms, to stroke her face, to tell her. The pain of longing was killing me. For I could never ever let her know how I felt towards her. She didn’t love me. No, not in the same way I love her. She would never understand and I did not have the courage nor would I ever take the risk of jeopardising our friendship. My love for her was a secret I’d take to my grave.