Her eyes twinkled, just like they had years before, when we lay beneath the stars, full of summer love and heat. The grass had pricked our skin, but we hadn’t noticed, completely absorbed in each other and the magnificent starscape above.
It was the last day before college.
I kissed her cheek and tucked my head into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent that was her. She held me in her arms, warm and tight, as if she never wanted to let go; I didn’t want her to.
Above our heads, a pinprick of light streaked the sky. “Quick!” I’d said. “Make a wish!”
She closed her eyes in exaggeration, and I stared up at her, my mind already scrabbling to come up with my own wish. In the end, I wished for a second chance.
Years later, seeing her at the train platform, I got my wish. She’d run up to me the second she saw me, drawing me into a fierce hug.
“I wished for you,” she whispered, her fingers on my lips, tracing them as if trying to ensure their reality. I smiled at her.
“Then we both got our wishes.”