The old grandfather clock in the hall chimed seven times, each toll a tiny hammer blow against Clair’s already frayed nerves. Seven o’clock. He should be here. Any minute now, the familiar rumble of his beat-up motorcycle would shatter the suffocating quiet of the evening, a sound that once filled her with childish glee, now a lifeline in a sea of anxious anticipation.

She paced the length of the living room, her worn slippers whispering against the polished wood floor – a counterpoint to the frantic rhythm of her heart. The house felt too big, too empty, echoing with the absence that had stretched for years, a chasm only his return could possibly bridge. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it down, then immediately ruffling it again, a nervous tic she hadn’t realized she’d developed.

Her gaze drifted to the window, the darkening sky mirroring the storm brewing inside her. She’d spent the entire day cleaning, polishing, rearranging – a desperate attempt to create a welcoming haven, a space worthy of his homecoming. Every carefully placed photograph, every dusted knick-knack, was a silent testament to the years they’d spent apart, years filled with missed calls, unanswered texts, and the gnawing ache of distance.

She remembered their childhood, a kaleidoscope of shared secrets, whispered dreams, and adventures only they understood. They were inseparable, two halves of a whole, their bond forged in the crucible of shared laughter and youthful recklessness. Then, life happened. He left, chasing a dream that took him far away, leaving her behind with a promise to return, a promise that had stretched thin with the passage of time.

Doubt, a cold, insidious serpent, coiled around her heart. Had he forgotten? Had his life moved on, leaving her and their shared past as distant memories? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a wave of icy despair threatening to engulf her. She clutched a worn teddy bear, a relic from their childhood, its fur matted and faded, a tangible link to a time when everything felt simpler, safer.

The grandfather clock chimed again, eight o’clock. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the already fading light. She blinked them back, refusing to let her vulnerability show, not yet. She needed to be strong, to greet him with a smile, to erase the years of separation with a single, heartfelt embrace. But the tremor in her hands betrayed her carefully constructed facade.

She walked to the front door, her hand hovering over the knob, her breath catching in her throat. She could almost hear his voice, his laughter, the familiar cadence of his speech. She imagined the feel of his hand in hers, the warmth of his presence, a comfort she’d craved for so long. The sound of a motorcycle engine, faint at first, then growing louder, finally broke through the silence. Her heart leaped, a frantic bird taking flight. He was here. He was really here. The years of waiting, the doubts, the fears – they all melted away in the face of his imminent arrival. A shaky breath escaped her lips, a mixture of relief and trepidation. He was home. And finally...she could relive her first love.