Missed

Of the few times he had stood behind her, only once did he actually address her. She couldn't remember if it was a shrug, an answer to a question she had unconsciously muttered to herself, or simply a mistake in hearing resulting from too much hope on her part. Whatever it was, when she turned to look, his gaze was forward, through her, leaving no evidence of his acknowledgement of her. It didn't feel anything, at least not enough to make an impression akin to pain. When the summer was over, she had dismissed all thoughts of him, partially successfully, until he made himself known with just a one short simple sentence. Had she known, had she asked, maybe things would have turned out a little more differently. But it was the advent of May, and he was in love, and she was entrenched in something far more profound, like herself.