I stand near the counter, fidgeting with the zipper of my jacket, unsure of what to do. My eyes keep drifting to the door, half-hoping that she’ll walk in at any moment, that I’ll catch a glimpse of her smile, that we can pick up where we left off.
But a bigger part of me knows we’re not kids anymore. This town doesn’t give out do-overs easily.
But none of that happens. The door doesn’t open, and the world keeps spinning without her.
“Can I help you?” One stylist finally asks, a youngwoman with bleach-blonde hair and a warm smile. She seems friendly enough, but I can’t muster the energy to reciprocate her enthusiasm.
“Uh, yeah…I’m just…looking for Kenna,” I say, my voice more tentative than I want it to be. “She’s not here?”
The stylist shakes her head. “She stepped out for a bit. She should be back soon. If you want to wait in her office, you can.”
I nod. This was predictable. Not sure what I expected to happen—maybe just a chance to catch her in the middle of everything. To talk while she worked. Something casual, something easy.
I wanted to catch her in her element, in the world she built, so I could see her surrounded by everything she’s created—and know if I still fit there.
But it’s never been that easy with Kenna, has it?
I walk down the hallway. The walls are decorated with pictures of vibrant hairstyles, framed awards from the past. The place has her stamp on it, but I can’t shake the weight of her absence.
Everything smells like her, a mix of citrus and warmth, and the ache buried deep in my chest claws its way to the surface.
In her office, I sit down in the chair at the desk, trying to force myself to relax. There are framed photos of her and her family, one at a wedding. It looks like her younger sister, Millie, is the bride.
Kenna is radiant.
She’s smiling like the world never hurt her, like maybe she learned to laugh again in all the years I was gone.
The way her hair catches the light as it falls in messy waves, that soft blonde shade turning golden, almost ethereal. It’s always been like that, gentle and warm, like sunshine woven into strands of silk.
Her eyes, though, that’s where it all begins. They’ve always held me captive. A soft shade of green, like the stem of a flower. But it’s not just their color. It’s the way they reflect everythingaround her, the little sparks of curiosity, the way they narrow when she’s focused, the warmth they carry when she lets her guard down.
The way they used to look at me like I was worth loving.
When she looks at me, it’s like everything else disappears, and for a split second, it’s just her and me in a world where nothing else matters.
As time goes by, the thought of seeing her again grows into an ache I can’t ignore any longer.
It feels like forever until I hear the doorknob turn, and the moment my eyes land on Kenna, I freeze. There is no pretending. No hiding.
Every part of me goes still, like I’ve forgotten how to breathe, how tobewithout her.
She looks just as real as I remember, maybe even more so, if that’s possible. Kenna’s strawberry hair is pulled up in a messy bun, strands falling loosely around her face. That’s the thing with her—no matter how she wears her hair, it’s always beautiful and always pulls me in. Her face is softer than I remember, like life has etched something new into her, but there’s still that fire in her eyes.
A fire I didn’t put out, even if I dimmed it for a while.
She doesn’t see me at first—she’s focused on something on the desk, her back slightly turned. I can feel the weight of time between us, like a wall that’s never been fully torn down. But when she turns and meets my gaze, everything in the room shifts. My pulse stutters. She’s here.
She’s here.
Not in a memory, not in a dream—but really, actuallyhere.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but never imagined I’d be like this…lost for words. My hands tighten into fists at my side, and for a second I feel like I’m right back in high school, nervous and unsure. I take a step toward her, my body reacting before my brain can catch up.
Kenna’s eyes widen, and for a moment, she doesn’t move. Herexpression is guarded—expectant, maybe, but not welcoming. But then she lets out a breath, and before I can think twice, I’m pulling her into my arms.
Waiting any longer feels like more time wasted.
The moment I hold her, it’s like the universe quiets down. Her warmth, her softness—everything about her is soKenna. The scent of her hair floods my senses—orange and cinnamon, a combination I could never forget. It’s familiar and intoxicating, like coming home after being lost for far too long.
