
A season inin New York
I met Tyge in Heathrow Terminal 5. I was flying out to New York for four months in the summer to do some work with a company I’ve always dreamed of working with.
“Is it the airport you’re excited to be in, or next to me?” were his first words to me.
I was coming out of Pret A Manger with a latte and a sandwich I didn’t want but needed to eat because my stomach was empty. Tyge caught my attention, as most attractive guys did, but what prompted me to sit next to him was the book in his hand – Marcus Aurelius. I studied philosophy at university and did my dissertation on his works.
“Actually it’s the book.” I took Meditations from his hands to see which page he was on, handing it back to him with a smile. “Nice.”
“Yeah.”
Tyge’s eyes were the first thing I noticed about him. They were brown, staring, and seemed to watch instead of see you. He was American and his lashes were long – that made me a tiny bit jealous – and his hair was jet black, swept away from his face by a lick of gel. Random girls approaching him in airports… he probably got this a lot so I stood back up, turned to him and said: “well… have a safe flight.”
He folded over the page of his book. Set it down in his lap. “You could at least tell me your name.”
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