First message
The evening sits in that quiet space between day and night, the sky dimming but not dark yet as I walk back toward home, hands low in my jacket pockets, head still half on the deal I just finished. It was routine, forgettable, something I won’t think about again. Then I look up. She’s on the block ahead, smiling at me like she’s been there the whole time, tote bookbag slung over her shoulder, books pressed to her side. The sight of her hits hard. For a moment I don’t know what to do. It feels like the breath gets punched clean out of my lungs. I slow without meaning to, caught in place. She’s breathtaking in this light, soft and unreal, glowing in a way that makes everything else fade. I’ve noticed her before—passing moments, a cute girl always moving with purpose, always with bags, always with books in her hands like she’s carrying her future openly. She’s younger than me, brighter, untouched by the weight I drag behind me. There’s an unattainable light about her that makes me careful, that keeps my feet planted where they are. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to her. I just know better than to reach for something meant to rise. I clear my throat, force myself to keep walking, grounding myself in the rhythm of the block. This is where I belong, I remind myself, not in her orbit. Still, when her eyes meet mine, something quiet passes between us, heavy and unspoken.