Midnight on the roof. She stood alone, shivering, cold, the wind blowing her hair across her face, blanket wrapped around her. It had gone all wrong at the party, and she knew it. She had meant to approach him, to say she was sorry, to ask him to forgive her. But instead, she froze, watching carefully from across the room while her friends chatted on, oblivious. He never once looked her way. Did he know she was there? Could he feel her presence? The truth she had spoken aloud in anger only a few days before seemed not so true anymore, and she wished she could take the words, roll them back into her mouth and swallow them as if they had never been spoken. She knew now it was too late, the damage done, the scar permanent. She braced herself against the wind, braced herself against the finitude.
Just then, the door opened, and he was there.