I woke up to my alarm and saw that it was dark outside. Four o’clock in January is well and truly into the darkness, but it didn’t matter. Two hours to get ready, one to get to where I needed to be. Where he was going to be.

For the first time in however long, I felt butterflies. Was this really it? Were the many months of looking, searching finally going to come to an end? I had to know, and yet, I didn’t want the moment to come. Whatever the answer was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be faced with it.

I stepped into the shower, and basked in the hot water for as long as I could, thinking and overthinking every possible outcome. What if he was, in fact, a dick? What if he looked like nothing I’d imagined him to look like? What if he wasn’t real, and I was just grasping at straws in the darkness?

No, it couldn’t be. Besides, I saw him in my dreams, didn’t I? He was going to be there, exactly how I’d imagined him, because I wasn’t really imagining him. I was having visions of him. Talking to him, and I’d talked to him down there, in the subconscious. He was most definitely real.

I looked down at my body. It was still very far from being anywhere near fit, but I just hoped he would understand what I’d been through. I wasn’t perfect for him, and they weren’t small imperfections either, like a bit more sag here or a bit of cellulite there. No, Christmas was still only four weeks past, and I still wasn’t looking much better than what my dad observed as terrible.

It would have to do. If he was going to throw me away because I didn’t look good enough for him, so be it. I didn’t know what I was going to do after, and I dreaded the very idea, but it would have to do. No way of fixing myself up in a matter of hours.

The hot water had to run out at some point, though, and I stepped out of the shower to be met by the customary cold gust of air. Quickly drying off in order not to freeze, I went about finding an outfit. Any good-looking dress I had was too lightweight for January, which wasn’t helping, but I ultimately settled for a tight combination to keep myself warm while showing my figure.

In fairness, the figure did look slightly better than the absolutely appalling skin, which didn’t have any semblance of a coherent tone, and looked more like snake skin than human. A skirt over that, no bra and a coat would do. Too risqué for a first date? Maybe, but I didn’t expect to spend too much time wearing those anyway.

Amidst all of that, I’d forgotten to look out the window, and when I stepped out of the building, was met with pouring rain. Wonderful. After sprinting up the stairs to grab my umbrella and back down again, I felt sweat starting to emerge from my pores, and feeling it held against me in the cold January air was nowhere near pleasant.

Despite the umbrella, parts of me were soaked when I reached the tube station, and I rode the escalator into the bowels of London trying to avoid the looks people gave me, as if I looked homeless. The train arrived almost immediately, which was weird for a Sunday, and I stepped in, looking around me, hoping I’d meet him even before the bridge, skimming between that and my watch.

Twenty past. The stations rolled by, only the odd Sunday worker entering and leaving the City-bound train on a day no-one really wanted to be outside the warmth of their houses. The lights in the train were a reddish yellow hue rather than the usual white, which looked strange, but was more comforting than the clinical white of every single station.

It kept me wondering why they didn’t use that function more often during the bleak winter months, and it was a nice distraction from the impending moment of truth, better than looking at the watch. Half past. I didn’t have the strength to entertain myself reading the unfortunate commuters who had to share this train with me, and as the stations grew closer to each other, I knew where I was. I was nearing the centre.

Quarter to seven. I left the train, and rejoined the thin mass of people getting places. Standing right on the escalator, lacking the energy to walk, the lump in my stomach grew with every single moment, and I kept looking around. Was he here? How would he recognise me?

Ten to. Leaving the confines of the station, I was again met with pouring rain. I knew the umbrella wouldn’t do much good, but it was better than nothing, especially because I couldn’t think about anything other than him. Every few steps, I raised the umbrella to look around, hoping, listening. If he was real, he was just as anxious as I was to meet me, and I would hear that. He wasn’t going to evade me.

I reached the bridge, and walked halfway across, only to find an empty bridge, filled only with people in a hurry to get places. There was no-one waiting for their perfect person to meet them there. He wasn’t there. I took a deep breath and turned around, looking over the Thames. The raindrops pinging off the metal construction drowned everything else out, including the people behind me.

I looked at the City, and thought about everything that goes on inside it. So many people, each having their own life, not caring about many others. Even for those with many friends, their entire social circle was a tiny fraction of the entire city. For most people on this bridge, I was just another raindrop. Another faceless stranger. A nutter standing on the bridge in pouring rain.

I’d had enough. Whatever I had done, whatever I was important for, was ultimately meaningless on a long enough timeline. For all intents and purposes, I was a raindrop. I closed my umbrella and let the rain fall on me. Was it important? No. I was a part of it, a part of this world as much as any other human, and a footnote in the Universe just like anything else. Time was just too slow.

I felt the drops fall on my face, one by one rather than a coherent stream, and thought how alike they were to people. Yes, one by one, but all of them the same. Just like people in my life. There was no special raindrop in anyone’s life. There was no Aaron. The church bells chimed, just barely getting through the rain noise.

They rang again, and five more times. Seven o’clock. Another slice of a circle that I’d traced around the Earth. Behind me, I heard footsteps. I heard muffled voices, no doubt judging the crazy woman standing in the rain, just asking for pneumonia. And I thought about their faceless lives. About the delusion that they were in any way important.

The rain noise was suddenly muffled, as if there was something blocking it off, and a deep male voice spoke behind me. “Hi, Jordan.”