"Zara?"

His voice is the same. He looks exactly the same and yet, somehow everything is completely different.

A bit oafish I lift up my hand. "Hey Sorley.

My bottom lip hurts from chewing nervously on it, which I couldn't stop these past days. I can feel the torn skin and lick my lips before I close my mouth.

"What are you doing here?"

There are long silent pauses between every sentence we exchange.

"I wanted to see you. In real life."

Now I know why he was so reluctant, I'm suddenly ashamed about this invasion of his private life.

"And so you got on a plane?"

"Eh... yeah."

He rolls his wheelchair a bit forward and looks from me to my suitcase and back. "Does your mother know you're here?"

I shake my head. "She's at that seminar. Isla knows, She helped me."

"Oh good, Isla knows."

The sarcastic tone in his voice scares me.

"Zara, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Quavery I take a deep breath, but then my cooped up, over exerted and far to thinly stretched emotions have had enough. Tears muddle my vision and I hide my face in my hands.

He curses and I sob even louder.

A different voice offers salvation. "Sorley? What is going on here? Did you make that poor girl cry? Move aside, so she can come in."

Frail hands protectively pull me in and through a haze I find myself a little later sitting in a square living room. My suitcase is placed beside me and Sorley's grandma says something about tea and disappears from view. Sorley obviously has his accent from his grandmother, who sounds just like that Irish actor I saw the other day.

I sniff a few more times, wipe the sleeve of my summer coat over my eyes and mumble in the direction of where I can see Sorley from the corner of my eye: "Sorry."

"No," he softly replies, "I am sorry. I ..."

My eyes search his when he falters. Defeated, he points at his legs and I swallow.

"So long we only met in books, I could pretend I had a normal life. For you I was just any guy, like a million others. Whole. Without something that would make you feel sorry for me."

His grandma's shadow appears near the door, but she retreats almost immediately. Sorley didn't see and continues: "I didn't want you to see me like this."

Words pop up in my mind. Sentences like: 'do you think it would make a difference?' and 'you're still the same'. I don't say them out loud, for even in my head they sound hollow.

"Is it because of the accident? You said you hurt your back?"

"Aye." A humourless laugh escapes his lips. "A spinal cord injury. I was fortunate to be alive, but I couldn't walk any more."

"Is ... can it ..."

"If it can be cured? Maybe someday, in the future. They fixed a whole lot. I couldn't even go to the bathroom at first.

He grins and for a moment I recognize the old Sorley. That relieves me so much I almost begin to cry again, but I manage to contain myself.

Sorley also sits up a little straighter, as if he realizes the cat won't go back into the bag.

"So," he says, finally looking me straight in the eye, "and so you decided you could fly halfway around the world on your own?"

I smile sheepishly.

"At least you arrived safely."

He purses his lips when I grin. "Yeah, now you laugh. What would you have done if you got stuck somewhere? Or if you were robbed along the way?"

My smile disappears. "Nothing happened, so we don't have to think about that. Isla and I planned everything very carefully and – oh, I have to text her I arrived."

I do it straight away, even though it's the middle of the night in the Netherlands. I almost immediately receive a text back.

"She wants a picture", I grin. I get up, walk around Sorley, kneel beside him and hold the phone in front of us. He's not looking at the camera, he's looking at me. With an expression that still radiates disbelieve. Isla thinks he looks adorable, but I don't say that out loud.

When I'm back in my seat, he tilts his head and asks: "How long will you stay?"

"A week, if I can?" Holding my breath, I await his reaction and relieved I exhale when a smile appears on his face.

We stare at each other for a while. I feel the tension rise and I suck on my bottom lip. Then, before I loose the nerve, I stand up, take a few steps forward, bend over and kiss him.

We exhale at the same time and then we laugh and he pulls me in his lap. Until his grandma decides she's given us enough privacy and enters the room, then I hastily spurt back to my seat on the couch.

Sorley introduces me to Meghan Connor, who seems a little too content with the fact her grandson has a girl over. She also finally explains the riddle of Sorley's Irish name.

"At the end of the nineteenth century, my husbands parents immigrated to America as newly-weds, because of the threat of war. They were called O'Connor back then. They dropped the O, when they got here. My own ancestors came here as colonists nearly a century before that."

I glance at Sorley, would that be the reason he was so interested in the 'Brotherhood' book?

While taking little sips of my tea, I try to listen to Meghan's story, however somewhere in the middle I'm losing track. Am I jet-lagged?

"Gran, I think Zara's falling asleep."

I'm startled when I hear Sorley say my name and look apologetic at his grandma. She eyes me with surprise. Her grandson explains: "She's been flying for fourteen hours."

"Fourteen hours? Child, you must be exhausted. Where are you coming from?"

"The Netherlands", I answer with a frown. How does Sorley know it's been fourteen hours? I look his way, but he pretends not to see it and instead lifts my suitcase on his lap.

"Is the guest room ready? She can use my bed if it's not."

Meghan makes a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue. "Of course the guest room is ready. You know I always keep every room spotless, even though we hardly use that one."

Aw, too bad. To sleep in Sorley's bed would be heavenly. I quickly hide behind my hair, that I pulled free from the pony-tail that was beginning to ache. I don't really want to sleep, but my leg is nagging and my eyelids are heavy. When I follow Meghan, I hear her mumbling: "The Netherlands, where is that again? Europe, how did the boy come up with that?"

Sleepily I smile. The guest room is in the building on the other side of the open courtyard. It has a bathroom and even a small kitchen. There is a twin-bed and Meghan pulls away the bedspread, that she neatly folds. "There. Sorley, you can put the suitcase down, then we'll leave Zara be."

The message is clear, yet I want him to stay. His grandma however pushes him straight out the door and through the window I can see them deep in conversation. What would he be telling her about how we met?

My feet are burning and before I fall down on the bed, I massage them with cold water and a wash cloth. The cast, which I tightened with the Velcro after flying, I take off and then I hop to the bed. When I wake up, I'll ask how I can recharge my phone, for now the battery is full enough. I text Isla I'm going to bed, send a picture of the room and see that Sorley is texting me.

Do you want me to wake you for dinner? he asks.

I pause. I don't think I'm very hungry, but I don't want to sleep too long, so I text back: Yes, please.

He sends me a kiss and a sleep well and then I close my eyes. Within seconds I'm out.

---

It's the middle of the night when I wake up. Light from outside shines through the window, everything else is pitch black. Hey, wasn't Sorley suppose to wake me for dinner? I pick up my phone.

You were deeply asleep, gran said. Come see me when you wake up? The door is open, next to the front door, on the left.

Aha, that explains it. But I am hungry now. Would he mean I can come to him even if it's the middle of the night?Three o'clock, my phone tells me. I text Isla my internal clock is broken and get a text back saying I shouldn't whine.

For a moment I stay on my back. Am I really in America? The whole journey from the previous day seems so long ago already. Then I get up and shove my legs over the edge with a little effort. Ouch, my muscles. Sitting in air plane chairs all day must have been worse than I thought. Softly moaning I pull the cast towards me and strap it around my leg. I'll be so happy when I can get rid of it.

Beside the bed I locate the night light switch and in the dim light I open my suitcase. It's a good thing I took my one slipper, this way I don't have to put on my sneaker. Should I also wear the cast shoe? I do it just in case. I don't want to end up with broken plaster over here.

As silently as I can manage, I sneak over the lit courtyard. The lamp hinders my view on the stars, but I can tell it's a clear night. I walk past the front door and when I get to the door Sorley mentioned, the one from the left building, I take a peek through the window first. But I can't see a thing, because there's a curtain in front of it. Should I knock? I'd better.

Nothing happens. I knock again, but if still nothing happens, I don't dare to knock any louder. Somehow I know that grandma Meghan won't appreciate her guest sneaking into her grandsons room in the middle of the night. I quickly cover my mouth when a giggle wants to escape.

The door indeed isn't locked when I push down the latch. It's dark inside and I need a moment for my eyes to adjust. A blue glow emanates from several pieces of equipment. Buttons on a stereo, that softly hums and a charger of something, low on the floor. The numbers on an alarm clock tell me where the bed is located and when my sight is improved, I recognize Sorley's profile. He's on top of the sheets, merely wearing shorts and a T-shirt. One with bright words saying: This looks like a job for Superman. I'm beginning to suspect Sorley is somewhat of a nerd. Careful, making sure I don't bump into anything, I shuffle closer. The wheelchair is next to the bed, so I sit in there. I really ought to go back to the guest room, try to get some more rest. In any case I should let him sleep, still I don't move.

Gradually my eyes adjust to the dark and I can see more and more of his face. All lines have disappeared and his mouth is slightly opened. My gaze moves over his face to his chest that rises and falls evenly. One hand is on his stomach and the other reaches for me. I hide my hands under my butt to keep myself from touching him.

His legs are straight, his feet point diagonally into the sky. Nothing about them tells me they don't work as they should. Would this be the reason he doesn't attend college? Or that he never told me about what work he does when he's not sitting at home, reading books? I look around, hoping to see the enormous bookcase, but the wall I stare at is empty, safe for two doors.

When I look back at his face, his eyes are open and focused on me.

"Oh, hi", I whisper. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

"That's okay", he whispers back, his voice a little hoarse. "I was hoping you would come."

The feverish sensation I always get when I'm near him, doubles now that we're in the real world.

"Your grandmother is very sweet", I comment after a while, when I find my voice again.

"Aye", Sorley smiles. "She's a little old-fashioned, but she's been taking care of me since my parents died.

"Is, where is your grandpa?"

"He died when my father was six. We're all that's left."

"But you mentioned an aunt? And cousins?"

I can't see perfectly in the dark, but I think his expression turns uncomfortable.

"I haven't been completely honest with you. That week and the days I wasn't here ... I was in the hospital, for tests."

"Oh." I remain silent for a moment. Well, it's not as if I've always been the most forthcoming. I immediately forgive him and ask: "Do you get them often? Tests?"

He seems relieved I don't make a fuss and replies: "Sometimes, when they come up with something new they want to try. I don't have a complete spinal cord injury, therefore they keep searching for ways to recover the strength in my legs. I think," he frowns, "I think that might also be the reason I can walk in books, because my spinal cord isn't completely damaged. I can feel my toes and it's often painful, but that's a good thing."

When he sees my face, he laughs. "If it was completely senseless, they can't help me any more. Pain means hope."

Yeah, when you look at it that way.

Sorley opens and closes his mouth. He opens it again and then purses his lips. it's clearly an effort to form his next sentence. I wait patently.

"Does it ..." He takes a deep breath and releases the air before he asks: "Doesn't it bother you? That I'm, well, that I'm in a wheelchair, lied to you?"

To the first part of the question I want to cry 'no', but when he's done talking, I wait a minute.

Then I say: "Of course I don't mind you're in a wheelchair, I'm just sad you didn't want to tell me. What were you afraid off?"

He focuses his glance on the other wall and it takes a while before he answers.

"I was afraid", I finally hear him whisper.

"I got so used to be seen as a whole person, in books. I don't have friends I hang out with daily, like you. At school it was barely tolerable to have to deal with the pity and mockery every day. In books ..." His eyes move to the wall with the two doors, which tells me his personal library must be behind one of them.

"In books, no one sees what's wrong with you. Especially Michael. You know, he's written very complex, you can tell by the many details, which made him a real person in the story. He didn't look at my legs, he didn't see a cripple, but an equal. He was a kindred spirit. As Irish as I feel I am. We spoke about many things. The revolution of course, that's the main theme in the book, but also about his life and expectations. Usually, when I talk to somebody about the future, they're afraid to say much, for fear of hurting my feelings. As if I don't have a future, because I'm in a wheelchair and they'd better not talk about it."

He snorts. I sit motionless.

Then he turns his head back to me. "You were a person like Michael too. You saw me as a normal guy. You looked at my face and not at my legs. I might not have been able to have intellectual conversations with you", he smirks and I blush, "but I loved just being me with you."

He remains silent and after a while I ask: "Are you afraid that will change? Because I've seen you in your wheelchair?"

His lips tighten and shaking my head, I get up. I push his arm out of the way and lay down beside him, with my face towards him and my folded hands between us.

"I don't know how I would have looked at you, had I known. Yes, I might stare at your legs a little more often, but that doesn't mean you become a totally different person for me. We just have to communicate better. If I look and you don't like it, just tell me and if I treat you too carefully, tell me that too." I smile when I see the corner of his mouth lift.

"You were never an ordinary boy to me", I shyly admit.

He gets up, leaning on his left arm, and bends over. Our kiss begins very light and tender, but it isn't long before my heart hammers in my chest and I'm having difficulty breathing. His right hand finds my middle and pushes my dress up an inch. When his thumb rubs my bare skin, I gasp, which makes his lips trail down my cheek to my throat. With the part of my brain that still functions, I think about how happy I am, this is happening in the real world. I want to remember each touch of his hands and lips for a very long time.

After a while his kisses slow down and his hand disappears from under my dress. He lies down again, but keeps one arm wrapped around me. I slide mine over his stomach. Over the muscles I feel through his shirt. We are both panting.

My heartbeat slows down and I close my eyes. Maybe I can sleep a little longer after all.