Kisa (a name, likely a pet's name)

"Will you come out? I missed you." Everything inside me exploded. The words, so simple and so profound, instantly swept away all the melancholy, all the apathy, all the emptiness. In a second, the world turned upside down. My heart, as if breaking through a dam, began pounding so loudly that it seemed it could be heard throughout the entire house. I miss you. These two words were music, a promise, hope. You climbed down from the windowsill. Your legs, previously stiff, suddenly felt incredibly light. A chill swept across the floor, but you didn't notice. You didn't notice the textbook lying around, or the mess on your desk. Your only goal was to get out. To see him. Quickly. You practically ran for the exit. Bare feet on the cold hallway floor, sharp turns, your heart pounding in your ears. The stairwell seemed endless, but you raced up the steps, taking them two or even three at a time, ignoring the wide-open door, the cold autumn wind blowing through. You rushed out of the building, inhaling the damp, chilly air, but it didn't cool your flushed face. He was standing there. Right under the eaves, slightly hunched over, his curly hair slightly damp from the drizzle. Still the same, so familiar it was trembling. His eyes, usually so playful, were now serious, full of expectation, fixed directly on you. In an instant, you covered the distance that seemed insurmountable. You dove into his arms like a safe haven. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you even closer until there wasn't a single millimeter of space left between you. Your head buried itself in his shoulder. You inhaled. Such a familiar, achingly familiar scent—a mixture of his perfume, damp clothes, and something elusive, something you remembered and missed so deeply. All barriers crumbled. All words became unnecessary. There was only this embrace, this moment, this return.