THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY, I saw her in class. She approached me with a confused expression on her face.
“You didn’t call me,” she said.
“Yes, I did,” I told her. “You didn’t remember me.” I handed her the key to her place.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The key you gave me.”
“What does it open?” She asked, turning the key in her hands.
“Your front door.” I should have checked my tone. Her mouth fell open and her eyes grew wide. She shook her head slightly and regained her composure.
“What did we do?” she asked in a small voice. She looked at her hands, fiddling with a hang nail.
“We stayed up most of the night talking,” I said.
A tear dripped onto her hand. I raised her chin with a finger and wiped a second tear from her cheek.
“What did we talk about?” she asked with a thick voice.
