Excerpt:

When I walked over to open the door that night, I might have expected anyone, but not him, never him.
I was speechless then, just standing there, staring at him as he was casually standing in front of the door, a bouquet of flowers in one arm, smiling somewhat sheepishly.
He looked good in those business clothes which I never would have believed him to wear of his own accord, and despite himself, he looked almost innocently friendly.
But even after all those years he didn't fool me.
I could tell that he was waiting, waiting as he had always been, for a reaction to what he was doing, assessing the situation anew each moment.
And at that specific moment I don't know which saddened me most;
That I knew that he had not changed enough over all those years to just stop the playing for once, or that I wasn't fooled by his appearance.
I wished so much that I could have let myself be fooled by it, at least for a short while.
By the surprise visit after such a long time.
By his looks, that were certainly different from the rags of uniforms we both sported back in Paris.
By his smile, that could have melted stones if he had only intended it to.
Or maybe by the flowers, but sadly I recognised them without a doubt as bearing Marie's handwriting.
I knew that he would not have been uncivil towards her, it would have been below him, but still it bothered me that he would try to play games with her too, when she had nothing to do with what had happened between us in the past.
Despite all this, I felt hope flicker up inside me when I saw him standing there.
Hope that his appearance at our doorstep might change some things for the better and hope that it wouldn't be Paris all over again.
Hope that we both had changed sufficiently not to hurt each other again.
And foolish as it might have been, hope to be able to truly share these never ending nights with.
Still, for all the hopes I felt at that moment, they didn't keep me from accepting the flowers from him, almost thrashing them on his head, before slamming the door in his face, so I wouldn't have to see that superiour grin of his anymore.
I stood there, back to the door for a few minutes that seemed like hours, trembling, still clutching the flowers tightly.
I realised that after all those years, we were back at almost exactly the point where we had ended the last time, without having exchanged even as much as a single word.
I dropped the flowers on the small table beside the door and dragged myself to the nearest armchair, unceremoniously dropping down into it.
For a while I wondered if he would stay outside, waiting for me, but I knew that if I was to believe this, I would just be lying to myself.
Nothing and no one had ever been important enough for him to wait for.