“You walked past me and didn’t glance my way. Didn’t stop to wish me a happy summer vacation or good luck with college. Some sick, twisted part of me was holding out hope you’d turn your head and nod, or at least give me some sort of sign letting me know it was okay. Okay that I took valedictorian away from you when everyone knew it was your dream and I just got lucky. Okay that we didn’t speak for over 48 months. 48 months, Emma. What the fuck was I thinking? Okay that we were leaving a common ground and parting ways without getting to know each other, with no desire to try. When you didn’t so much as blink… I realized that was it for us. The rest of my life would go on, without you there. I just… I held onto a thin, pathetic thread of hope that maybe someday we’d be able to put everything behind us. We’d run into each other at a reunion and laugh about everything, clearing the air and saying how stupid we were to not speak. Instead, 17 years later, here we are. Still intertwined. Still connected. Still in each other’s lives for a reason I have yet to discover. I don’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that other bullshit. But this can’t be a coincidence, can it, Sunflower?”

“I-I had no idea you even knew I existed,” I whisper. “You never… I never…”

Four years of walking the same halls, going to the same classes, and never once did we speak. Besides that first day, the split second of eye contact and visceral heat passing between us, he never looked in my direction again. I assumed he made it obvious what his intentions were, but now I’m second guessing everything I thought I knew.

No. It can’t be a coincidence.

Henry rocks on his feet, breaking our staring contest, one I’m sad to win. “Now you do.”

We fall into a quiet, ponderous moment. There’s so much more I want to say and learn about this man, desperate to make up for years and years of unknowing.

The hush surrounding us isn’t awkward or stilted. It’s full of memories. Of regret. Of what ifs and what could have beens.

Could we have been friends back then? Possibly. Maybe. There’s no way to tell for sure.

Are we both trying now? With every fiber of our being and with every tool in our arsenal.

Is this the sign I’ve been waiting for?

You’re safe.

Deciding to switch topics before we start professing even more declarations we might regret, I gesture around the room. “Your place is nice. Now I know what color your sheets are in case I’m asked during an interrogation from your mother. Navy blue. Just like the curtains.”