It all started when I was a kid.

My family would take my brother and I out to the lakeside during summer to visit our grandmother in a quaint cottage near the lakes. Everything felt simple back then — sweet and warm. Nostalgic, as if everything was golden and desaturated under the sun.

I still have faint memories of going out into the pines with my brother at one point. I don’t remember the fighting part, only going off on my own in a fit of childish frustration. Deeper through the sun scattered trees, I recall meeting another girl there, about my age. I was, as I’ve always been, shy when I approached her, yet she wasn’t. She was content, calm, and… strange. It didn’t matter to me though. We quickly got along.

Throughout the weeks we stayed at the cottage, I insisted on going back into the woods to meet the girl almost every day. My parents questioned it, as anyone would. I told them about how she showed me how to craft things out of loose wood, how we played silly games together, and how she always knew which way to send me back home when I was lost, despite how strange that is. They eventually eased their concerns, at least relieved that I had found a friend.

Eventually we had to go back home and I wasn’t given the opportunity to say goodbye to her. And, after a long move across states, we rarely had the chance to visit grandma again. I grew up and almost forgot all about the memories of the strange girl entirely, living as just a faint dream in my mind. That’s all until we had to go back.

People pass away, I get that, but the sinking pit in my stomach didn’t ease, even with all of the words of acceptance from my parents, saying that she left us naturally. Grandma wasn’t in my life as often as I got older, but I still recall the kind moments she gave to us. To me. The times when it was just me and her, when I felt like all of the attention was directed to my younger brother instead of me. It’s almost like she could tell.

So, we travelled over to grandma’s cottage, staying for as long as we need to while we sort out her many old and dusty things. It’s nice to be away from school, I still never felt like I belonged there, even now.

I wander beside the lake with a loose stick in my hand, recalling all of the little details of my childhood spent here. The memory-covered porch, the faded wall art of geckos and birds.

Before I know it, I’m walking further through the trees beside her home, the density of greenery growing around me slowly. The pit in my stomach flutters into something familiar, something calming as I see her. I see the girl again.

She’s older now, as expected. Her back is to me, yet I can’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for me, that she knew I was coming yet again. Her clothes are loose and pretty, her arms draped with colourful bracelets and beads, so natural and so at home. I shift my weight, watching as she hangs up a crafted dream catcher. Did she really make that? If so, she’s talented.

I wonder if she remembers me too.

“Um… excuse me?” I say quietly.