Saranda, on the Albanian Riviera, is wildly popular with locals for honeymoons, but I wasn’t in a romantic mood.
I was headed to the café with my book and my journal, and I was ready to indulge in an hour or so of self-pity and reflection.
For just the day before, the man I was traveling with, the man who had come to meet me at the airport, the man I had already labeled in my head as edging towards being a significant other, had unexpectedly hopped on a bus to a town six hours away and had told me he’d miss me, but had also said, “I need to go my own way at the moment.”