The last time I was seriously attached to a girl was back in ninth grade. Violet was different—attractive, confident, unafraid to speak her mind in a way that made her magnetic. We never had a proper relationship or even asked each other out; instead, we shared quiet moments on the parking lot curb, sipping Capri Suns and trading stories under the fading sun. It was innocent and uncomplicated.
Then her parents moved to Seattle, and she vanished from my life without a trace. I never saw her again, and for years after, I thought those simple days might have been the closest I’d get to a genuine connection. Yet here I was now, watching Destiny as she cradled a tiny furball with an elated smile, and something inside me clenched. The stress of wanting to ask her out, of hoping she’d feel the
