The first time we met.
If I weren’t so hyper that day, I wouldn’t have gone into your room. If you weren’t in class that day, you wouldn’t have seen me. If I wasn’t so friendly and nosy I wouldn’t be friends with your friends. And if you weren’t so bold, you might not have come up to me to introduce yourself.
But then the series of great and powerful things happened. I was hyper. You were in your room. I was friends with your friends. You were bold and confident. We shook hands.
It would take years before we were ever together, but we’d always go back to that day. We would speculate on how different it would have been if we met a day later, or a week later, and so on. If you had someone with you, or I had someone with me. We would have gone past each other in school and never know one another. A series of things falling into place.
Later on you would tell me that you were as nervous as hell and you couldn’t sleep that night and you refused to wash your hand. You’d say that was the day you developed a little crush for me. Later on I would tell you that I really don’t remember much of that day because I just thought you were another friend.
But then you’d take out your hand and reach it out to me, and then I’d smile and shake it.
“Hi.” You’d say.
“Nice to meet you.”And you’ll prove to me that you weren’t just another friend after all.