The Hug After a Long Time

After she moved to another city for her studies, I started looking forward to her calls.

We had been together for a while. Now she told me about her classes, the people she met, and small things I wished I had been there to see.

At night, we often said we should sleep. I knew she had to get up early. She knew it too.

Still, one of us would say, “Stay a little longer.”

Sometimes we talked about something important. Sometimes she asked a random question. Even after saying goodnight, we could find a reason to message again.

In a long distance relationship, a message like this can carry more than the conversation around it.

“I want to hug you right now.”

“I wish you could.”

There is affection in the reply. There is also nowhere for the wish to go. The words arrive, but the person does not.

Sometimes the extra question is just a way of asking someone to stay.

The first hug after months apart gives that wish somewhere to go.

That feeling is easy to picture in a simple reunion: a meeting outside a café, a bag put down, a greeting barely finished before two people reach for each other.

For a moment, they are careful with each other. A hand settles on her back. Her cheek rests against a shoulder.

After a few seconds, the arms around her begin to loosen, as if it is time to step back.

She moves closer instead. Her hand presses gently against the back beneath it, keeping them together.

The embrace tightens again. A long breath is let out. Shoulders that were held stiff begin to relax.

Neither steps away.

The hug has become something they are both choosing to stay in.

The conversation can wait.

That small pause holds something their calls could not quite give them: time together without having to keep a conversation alive.

On a call, silence can bring the familiar question, “Are you still there?” In this hug, closeness has an answer of its own. One holds a little tighter; the other does the same.

There is no need to check. They can stay quiet and still feel each other staying.

The beauty is in that response. For months, both have wanted this. Now the warmth, the touch, and the small movement closer give their words a feeling they could only imagine before.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

This time, there is no need to imagine the hug that might follow those words. It is already happening.

The visit is short. In a few days, she will return to her classes. That gives this moment weight, but it does not have to turn every second into a countdown.

They can spend some of the time doing very little. Holding each other. Looking at each other. Letting a sentence wait.

All those late calls were not always a search for a better conversation. Sometimes they were attempts to have the ordinary closeness that distance had made difficult.

To be beside someone after the story ends. To have nothing new to report and still not be ready to leave.

The longing was not always for more words. It was for the time together after the words ran out.

When they finally lean back to look at each other, she keeps hold of a small fold of the shirt beneath her hand.

“A little longer?”

For months, those words might have meant keeping a call going. Here, they can simply hold each other again.

Neither has to think of something else to say.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.