Yes. He was in love with her words, with the way she carried her sentences, the way she ended them. It was a different kind of love, sort of indefinable; yet at the same time, they both understood it. They both knew what kind of love it was. And they both kept it a secret.
She settled herself in Manhattan, sipping her morning coffee in subways and taxis, writing stories in crowded, packed cafes on 5th Avenue. She kept in touch with him, asking him how he was and what he was up to. And then one day he got married and she finally let him go. New York was hers now, just like he always said.