A haircut, new glasses, and updated wardrobe can really change a person.

Couple that with an out-of-context environment, and you have the dilemma I’m facing. One brief encounter, and I’m second guessing the last thirty minutes of retrospection. Divided, my mind has chosen two routes this situation can take: either the girl was who I feared, disguised beneath a new and unfamiliar appearance, or I have mistaken her for someone else. The feeling is like driving on a highway, looking desperately for an exit ramp, and afraid I’ve missed it.

We of the auditorium have finished clapping and, since we’re already standing, coats and commentary are in order. I glance recurringly over my shoulder at the entrance until a guy thinks I’m staring at him. He shifts uncomfortably out of my line of sight.

I can’t stand still, up and down on the balls of my feet, eyes roving, not knowing. The others casually talk, unaware. We’re halfway to the doors.

Where is she, where is she…

Every purple shirt blazes in the crowd.