It was 8pm on a Friday evening, you were on a cold rooftop of some unfortunate apartment, college students strewn around in groups or pairs with alcohol in their systems and in their hands.

Your friend Paul called out your name, "I have someone to introduce you to, this is Pepe."

The party noise turns into static as your eyes fall onto him. The black, messy hair, brown wide eyes, slightly hooked nose, tanned skin and subtly shocked expression. It was him.

You haven't seen him since senior year in highschool, all doe eyed and smiley. Now here he was, weathered by the stress of College and life in general. What was once a confident and brash boy turned to a weary young man.

You also changed, chopped your usually long hair short, wore short skirts and tank tops instead of sweaters, held a cigarette in your hand. In opposition, Your meek and demure self bloomed into a confident young woman.

You had history with him, one that could rival the textbooks the two of you complained over in 11th grade. You were both each other's firsts in everything. Young and naive, you dragged each other into the depths of love recklessly until it left you both shaking.

'I'd never pretend not to know you.' Was one of the last things you uttered to him as you two broke up.

You could see him schooling a neutral expression, as if meeting someone for the first time. As if he thought you lied and you'd never want to recognize him again. "Oh, Hi,"

"Pepe Marti." You say, "from beyond the grave." You take a step closer to him.