Incandescence

By chance, Mila found him again.

But even if he could leap off of the photos on the summer program web page and materialize before her, nothing would happen. The last time they met had been nearly six years ago, when they sat on opposite sides of the classroom and never directly said a word to each other. But Mila always noticed the ones who could light up a room, who would joke with his friends and answer peevishly to the teacher. How could she not, when the energy of the class seemed to deflate whenever he was off competing at a basketball game that weekend instead? Even back then, Mila's palate encompassed the same tastes -- one, that he was tall; two, that he was an athlete; and three, that his confidence drew her in like a moth to the flame.

Now, when Mila sees how much he has grown in six years, she wonders. How ironic that she can still recognize his face after all these years. How ironic that last year, he attended the program she intends to attend this summer, that their lives run in parallel lines, forever within sight of each other but never intersecting. How ironic that when she sees his face after all these years, she can still feel the same heavy bittersweetness that caked her heart six years ago when he barely saw her at all.