Most of the time during his brief holiday he was alone, but that didn't matter to him. He'd been in this position before, built up a kind of internal resistance to it.
The weeks passed quickly enough and then he was back where he wanted to be. 'I could easily live here,' he thought. He was back doing all the things he enjoyed; working, relaxing and generally having the kind of time he'd often wished for himself.

But the strain was beginning to show in his relationship with the girl. She found it difficult to lie to friends and relatives about her secret meetings with him. He'd told her that it didn't matter who knew, but she'd always argue that, to her, it did matter. He was beginning to realise that it wasn't working out as he'd hoped. There was a small circle of close friends who knew, and anyone else outside of it getting to know could blow everything apart.

It happened despite their efforts in covering up. He wasn't prepared the day his friend (and ex-room mate) handed him a small letter. 'It's too much for me,' she'd written, 'I can't go on like this.' The bottom fell out of his world. He was falling down and down into an endless pit. He cried. His friends comforted him, but there was nothing that could be done. If asked why he looked so lost and unhappy, he couldn't tell them the real reason. It was still a closed subject.

He tried to carry on as normal, but it was hard and he never really succeeded in putting his life back together again. She'd captured his heart and returned it, shattered, in a thousand tiny pieces. He'd see her around almost every day and couldn't bear to look at her, it was too much for him. So he started to rearrange some of his routines making sure that their paths would never cross. It helped him a great deal. He hardly saw her now, not even a glimpse, and the few times that they would encounter each other, he'd feel more comfortable. Able to amiably talk to her without expressing his inner feelings.