I didn’t come home early, or special, or for any dramatic reason. It was just time.

Everyone got rotated out. The guys packed up, shipped back, cracked jokes at the airport like we weren’t half-dead inside. I slept through most of the flight and landed with a stiff neck, a duffel bag full of sand-caked bullshit, and zero emotional prep for civilian life.

Been back five days. Still don’t feel like I’m here. My room’s smaller than I remembered, the house is louder, and people keep asking questions they don’t really want the answers to. You eat yet? You okay? You see what they did to the gas prices? Like I didn’t just spend the last year cleaning blood off my boots and trying not to get attached to people with bad luck.

Anyway. I went to the corner shop to grab socks. Not a metaphor. Just socks. I’ve been recycling the same two pairs since I got back because the rest smell like deployment and sadness. The store hasn’t changed, same chipped tiles, same guy behind the counter who calls everyone “boss” whether you’re twelve or thirty-five.

What had changed, what stopped me dead the second I stepped through the door, was her.

I didn’t see her walk in. Didn’t hear her. I just looked up and there she was, by the freezer. And she looked so gorgeous. Literally unreal.

She was standing there in her own world, looking through the shelves. No music in, no friend next to her hyping her up. Just a girl, alone.

And she was fucking stunning.

Not in that obvious, filtered, look-at-me way. She wasn’t curated. She was just solid. Real. That kind of beautiful that feels unfair because she’s not performing for anyone, she just exists like that. And you can’t ignore it. Your brain won’t let you.

And suddenly I forgot everything, why I came in, where I was standing, whether I still had breath in my lungs. I blinked and realized I was just watching her, holding a pack of off-brand socks like they were gonna protect me from how violently she’d just entered my atmosphere.

I’ve never seen her before. Not at school, not in this neighborhood, not even in passing. She’s not from around here. No chance. I’d know. I remember girls who look like that. I remember girls who carry themselves like nothing and no one has ever rattled them.

And I should’ve let it go. Could’ve just walked past, grabbed my socks, and gone home. Could’ve told myself, “cool, that was a pretty girl, back to your regularly scheduled civilian depression.” But no.

Because my chest went tight. My palms went hot. And my feet? They started moving before I could even decide if I was gonna say anything. Like my body knew, you miss this moment, you’re gonna regret it.

So I walked up to her, cautious of not seeming like a creep. Then I said, “Hey.”