There you are again. Still looking a little scared, still looking a little guilty. And here I am again, in your office. When I see your face, I get a little nauseous again. Maybe I should have waited a day before knocking on your door.

  But I needed to see you and tell you: ‘Whatever has been said in this office, will stay in this office.’

  You frown just a little. ‘Are you sure?’

  I can hear relief in your voice. ‘Yes.’, I answer. Not knowing what else to say, I remain quiet. In the end, I decide to just exit your office.

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  Before I can leave, you ask: ‘I get if you don’t believe me when I say this, but I truly am sorry for what happened to Earth. And I am sorry leaving like that.’

  I believe you, in a sense.

  You continue: ‘I wish I could travel back and do it all over again, but I can’t. The least I can do for you, is be there now. So don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.’

  I nod. I do not need anything from you. This was never about you, not really. It was merely the idea of you, shards of a blackened memory that still remained. The shrapnel of a bomb that was deteriorated long ago.

  One foot out of the door, I hear you ask: ‘Can we maybe talk some more about what happened?’

  ‘Sure.’, I say. ‘But at another time.’ And finally, I leave your office.