I watched her as she packed. She was constantly on the move; packing and unpacking was an art to her. Her hands moved swiftly and confidently as she arranged her books in her black simple suitcase; the way they moved was final and absolute.
She was off to somewhere else again – I have forgotten where. She had already moved twice this week.
“When will I see you?” I asked her again.
“Friday night. I’m here for the weekend.”