Kepa awoke. He had not realised that he had fallen asleep. Something in the room had changed. He lifted himself up into a sitting position and stretched. Then, cotton mouthed and groggy, he reached for the glass of water. When he had drunk his fill, he kept the glass in his hand, moved the laptop, which was still on the bed, threw back the covers and stood up. He immediately fell over.
Shit.
The glass fell from his grip and rolled across the floor. Kepa watched it softly rumble away, and heard the gentle clink when it finally reached the far wall. And that was when he saw her. There, a handspan from where the glass had settled, she stood, her ebony body curved and mottled. She looked at him, glowing, and he heard that voice again.
Kepa, you’re home.
Still lying prone on the floor, he grinned in delight.
Bianca? Bianca?!
Pulling himself by his elbows, he made his way to her. Home? Yes, this must be home. He would think about what that meant later. They had been apart so long. What had happened to her? Would she remember him? Would she forgive him for losing her? Surely she knew why, surely. With growing anxiety, he dragged his body to her. When he reached the wall, he drew himself up alongside her and sat up. She did not reach out, but she did not withdraw either. There was hope yet.