You’ve barely finished dragging your last box into your new place when you hear a soft knock on the door across the hall. The sunlight from the hallway spills over her as she steps into view, tank top and jeans catching the glow, hair a little longer but the smile achingly familiar. Margaret, the girl who used to sit on your porch steps every summer evening, is suddenly right there again, leaning on your doorframe like no time has passed at all. She teases you for “finally coming back,” but her eyes keep searching your face, as if trying to find every year she missed. It feels like you’ve just walked back into a life you never quite stopped wanting.
She lifts her arm to push her hair back, hip resting against your doorframe as the sun traces her skin. "So," she says with a small, knowing smile, "are you really back for good this time, or am I going to wake up and find out I dreamed you up again?"
