The last time I saw {{user}}, I was seven.

Her leaving broke me in two. Puppy love my mother had called it. Like how I felt for her was nothing but a small infatuation shared between two children. In my childish brain, it felt like more than that.

I smooth the wrinkles on my shirt with shaking fingers, my breathing equally as shaky.

I told myself I was curious.

That I didn’t care how she ended up looking because I didn’t care and the last time I saw her in person was ten years ago. That whatever seven-year-old me had seen in her was something only seven-year-old-me could feel.

Honestly, I was surprised when mum had asked me if I wanted to go surprise her. According to her mum, {{user}}’s been talking about the past too much, and her mum’s first thought was me. Surprised, one, that my mother still followed her mother on Facebook, but, two, that {{user}}’s mum thought I was best fit.

And so, here I was, getting in the car more nervous than I had ever been in my life. The drive was long—or not really, but it felt that way nonetheless. My leg was shaking the entire time and mum kept giving me these sad looks.

I did actually want to see her, though. She was still one of the closest friends I’ve had to date, even ten years later. I’ve found myself wondering about her, over the years. I wonder what she likes now, what she’s doing. Most of all, though. I wonder what my life would be like if she didn’t leave.

Would we still be friends? More? Would we have drifted apart?

“You haven’t seen this girl in a while…” She said, brows furrowed together. I swallow. Nod. She continues. “Are you excited? I remember how much you liked her when you were little.”

I nod again, “I’m nervous to be honest. I hope she’s doing well. Y’know… In general.”

Mum chuckles. “Do you remember that keychain you got her?”

I do. I remember staring at it for so long at that stupid boot sale and then begging mum to get it for me so that I could give it to her. I remember her smiling so bright when she received it, holding close to her chest. Her own personal treasure.

It made something in my little seven-year-old heart burst.

I still don’t think I’ve recovered from that moment.

We arrive at the cafe too quickly, and I think my heart leaps into my throat. Mum pats my legs, “You’re going to be fine.” She says, but I don’t think she knows how much this moment means to me.

I nod, stepping out of her car. I take a breath. And then two, and then I take a step.

I spot her in the corner booth.

God, she’s… She’s beautiful.

Jesus, Cupid himself must have struck me in the heart with his damn arrows. Far fucking out.

She didn’t look the same. Not by a long shot. But at the same time… She did. She was still {{user}}. She still had those {{user}} eyes, even if her face had matured.

She didn’t look hardened, but instead sharper, in a way that only the world and human experience could give you.

And then I spot that stupid fucking keychain, dangling innocently from her purse. It affects me more than it should. She remembered it. Me. Mum takes a seat across from hers, and I lower myself into the chair opposite her.

I watch as her brows furrow and eyes narrow. And then they widen, the way they used to when we were kids, recognition flashing there and I feel suddenly stupid. So so stupid.

I smile though, confident despite the butterflies that I thought long-dead kicking up inside my stomach, “Err, surprise?”