He reached out with his hand. His feet stumbled against the ground, knocking into bodies.
“Hey!”
Sorry. I’m sorry.Who was he saying sorry to?
“Hey!”
Did he even manage to say sorry out loud like he intended?
“Hey!”
How many people did he crash into? He needed to leave. He needed to leave before the strangers around him decided to throw him out.
“Hey, you, I’m sorry I don’t know your name!”
He stopped in confusion.
The voice was familiar. Warm. He wrenched his head around, prepared to face the trap his own memories laid out for him, only to see a strange, yet familiar, face dashing toward him.
The blond hair and clear, blue eyes triggered no memories, but the voice slicing through the haze of tumbling emotions with gentle yet fervent coaxing did.
“Hey! I’m so sorry—excuse me—I’m really sorry.” The boy weaved through the crowd, despite his considerable height. He stopped in front of Aiden, slightly panting. “Hi, my name is Brendan. I don’t know if you remember me.”
“I do,” Aiden mumbled.
Brendan’s voice remained warm. “You dropped something the other day. I’m glad I chased after you. I wasn’t even sure if I saw the right person.”
The words wiped the murkiness from Aiden’s senses. Voices became distinguishable, and the people stopped blurring. The sun stopped glaring.
Aiden blinked, looking around. People called from tables with large gestures and eager smiles. A crowd of people bustled about to each table, looking over facts and asking questions. In the crowd of enthusiastically recruiting students and curious newcomers, their shoulders jostled, and they acted like nothing happened. The atmosphere was too pleasant, and they were too good to get upset at getting brushed in such a tight space.
I’m at the org fair.His breathing evened. He straightened himself.
Then, he repeated what Brendan had already said.
Aiden stumbled forward and latched his hands tightly around Brendan’s arm. His heart sung. “You found something? What did you find? Was it a photo?” He clenched his hands. “Please tell me it was a photo!”
As long as I get it back. I don’t care if this boy judges me or pities me.
To his surprise, Brendan’s face lit up. “I knew it was important! Yeah, it’s a photo. I have it in my backpack. Wanna come with me?”
Aiden nodded. He stayed close to Brendan’s tall back and watched in awe. “Sorry. Coming through. Excuse me. Sorry, sorry!” The people parted to his voice, forming a perfect pathway.
It feels weirdly safe to follow him.His hands had finally stopped shaking.
Brendan led him to a club’s table where the two friends who also checked on him were busying about. “Sorry about that, Christina.”
She shrugged. “Javier’s taking care of it.”
Aiden glanced over at Javier, still with the unruly brown hair, waving his hands in the air.
Brendan searched inside his backpack. “There it is.”
The world fell silent around him. Aiden focused on the tiny picture cupped in Brendan’s hand. It was a flimsy piece of paper—easy to fold, easy to rip, and easy to lose.
His brother’s familiar face smiled back at him in a perfectly preserved piece of paper with edges smooth, colors vibrant, and not a crease in sight.
Aiden’s mouth fell ajar. He gently took the picture back and gazed at Brendan. “You kept it. For me.”
