I met my younger self for coffee today

She was 10 minutes late, and I was 15. She told me she wasn’t expecting anyone to show up.

She asked me to order her a flat white, and I ordered a vanilla iced latte. “I just need something to keep me awake," she tells me. Some things never change. 

I watch as she fidgets with her sleeves and bounces her leg under the table. I rock gently in my chair and shake my hands out next to me. She looks at me like I’m an alien.

She asks if we are a doctor yet. I laugh and tell her that we have a degree in English and creative writing; her eyes light up, and she confesses that she never wanted to do medicine anyway. 

It’s the middle of summer, and I’m wearing a tank top and shorts; she’s wearing a thick black hoodie and leggings. I tell her that she can take her hoodie off; I can tell that she is uncomfortable. She just glares at me and tells me she’s fine. 

I watch her wince as she flexes her fingers and crosses her legs. I tell her that we have an answer for that now. She asks if that means we aren’t in pain anymore; I can’t bear to tell her the truth. 

She tells me about her friends and how wonderful they are. She asks whether they’ve changed now that we’re older. My heart aches when I realise just how much she trusts them. I lie and tell her that they are still incredible. I wish I knew if that were true.

As we talk, she smiles at me but never quite looks me in the eye. I ask her to tell me what’s wrong, and she says she doesn’t know how much longer she can do this. I wrap her in a hug and tell her to just look at how much longer she did. I promise her she won’t feel like this forever. 

Before we leave, I slip a tangle in her pocket and tell her how much I love her. She promises to talk to her parents... I know she won’t. I have so much to tell her, I hope we can meet again soon.