Ten minutes. No calls, not even a text.

I pull my phone out to check again, in case I’ve missed the vibration on my stomach, but nope, nothing. I stuff it inside my coat pocket and a sliver of my skin gets coated in chilling rainwater.

Ten minutes wasn’t so bad. Thirty minutes was far worse, an hour meant to get a clue. Ten, though, was normal for dates. Ethan probably got stuck in traffic. The rain had come from nowhere, after all. I hadn’t brought an umbrella along, but the gigantic movie theater roof covered my head for more than a few feet.

I check again. Fifteen minutes. Why wasn’t he calling? Unless...was he waiting? For me?

Gnawing at my cheek, I type in his number and wait for him to answer in his deep, drawling voice. But instead of him, the automated message informs me that it didn’t go through.

“Five minutes,” I mutter, squinting at the dark gray expanse of the street. Rain pounds against it like hands on a bongo drum. “I’ll give him five minutes, then I’ll leave.”

Five minutes came and went.

Tapping my feet, I repeat, “Five minutes.”

No calls or texts.

Thirty minutes in, my legs tire and I sit on the cobble-stone steps.

I think five minutes at forty-five, and place my head on my knees. Our movie was beginning. I’d told him we should visit the mall first, get to know him, make him know me. See if we were good for each other.

Nothing on the phone. No notification of any kind.

I stand on trembling legs and leave before fifty-five minutes turn to an hour.