[ IP ] And we sat , and we talked , and the world went by

Tuesday night arrived unceremoniously, as it often did. Ada and I kissed as we met, sat down, and began our weekly ritual of staring the empty docks. 
 
 While the waves gently lapped against the concrete barriers, Ada casually informed me that she had come by way of the metro-line tram, that an arrest had taken place on her very carriage and that she'd accidentally dropped her coffee on the walk over to the docks. Just as casually, she let me know that this would be the last time we would meet. Somehow, I was n't shocked, and I let the moment slide past without much thought. 
 
 `` I'm leaving you, Michael.'' she repeated. 
 
 `` Mm.'' I responded, looking blankly ahead at the black waves in the city's harbour. 
 
 `` Do n't you want to know why?'' 
 
 `` Not really.'' 
 
 An uncomfortable silence settled on the scene then, only slightly broken when a far-off car alarm began wailing in the night air. 
 
 `` Are you angry?'' She asked, finally. 
 
 `` A little.'' I admitted. 
 
 `` At me?'' 
 
 `` At the situation.'' 
 
 `` You understand why, though?'' 
 
 `` I think so.'' 
 
 Her head dipped slightly. 
 
 `` I did n't mean to fall in love with him'' 
 
 `` I ca n't imagine that you did.'' 
 
 Silence again. 
 
 `` You know,'' she began slowly, as if testing the waters, `` I hear there are more grains of sand on the earth than there are stars in the sky.'' 
 
 `` Ok'' I responded, curtly. I did n't very much have an appetite for conversation. 
 
 `` You do n't have to be that way.'' 
 
 `` And yet here I am, being this way.'' 
 
 `` It's childish.'' 
 
 `` Then let it be childish!'' I sensed a rise in my voice as I turned to face her. I took a few deep breaths, turned back to the ocean, and resumed my chilly demeanor. 
 
 `` I can go, if you like?'' 
 
 `` That might be for the best.'' 
 
 Ada stood, gave me a look of deep concern, and, when it was obvious no response was forthcoming, spoke softly. 
 
 `` I'm sorry.'' 
 
 I looked at her for a moment, and then turned my attention once more to the water. 
 
 `` Goodbye, Ada.'' 
 
 `` Goodbye, Michael.'' 
 
 Her footsteps faded gently off into the city smog as she walked back to the tram-stop. When the footsteps finally disappeared behind the veil of ambient city sounds, I imagined a version of her that stayed beside me. A version of Ada that apologised and continued staring out at the ocean with me. *Ada-prime*, I sarcastically nicknamed the vision. 
 
 `` Let's start over.'' Ada-prime said, enthusiastically. 
 
 `` Yes, let's.'' I agreed. 
 
 Ada-prime smiled warmly at me, placing her hand atop mine. 
 
 `` You know, I hear there are more grains of sand on the earth than there are stars in the sky.'' She started. 
 
 `` Really?'' I said, genuinely interested. 
 
 The vision of Ada nodded happily and began telling me all the wonderful things she'd learned from the most recent book or documentary she'd read or watched. As she continued, I felt the absence of the real Ada tugging at my heart, and the comfort of the vision became suddenly cold. Still I clutched at Ada-prime's hand, hoping to hold onto a glimpse of what could have been, and we sat, and we talked, and the world went by.
