It was morning
soft light
lazy air

me and my best friend
were sitting outside
half-awake, half-laughing
letting time stretch
between us like old denim

we didn’t know
we were sitting
on the edge of something
we’d remember later

and then—
you walked by

yellow t-shirt
sun-colored
soft around the shoulders
like the day hadn’t touched you yet

you didn’t look lost
you didn’t look rushed
but your eyes
found mine

not just a glance
not a “maybe”
not one of those
look-away-quick things

a pause
a breath
eight seconds
give or take
but it was long enough
for something to land in my chest
before i could name it

i looked away first
i think
but not before
you saw me
and i saw you seeing me

my best friend caught it
like best friends do
said, “he was looking at you.”
and i said, “yeah… we made eye contact.”
cool voice, hot face
trying not to let it stick

but then i added,
“he looks like my old crush.”
and it came out so fast
i almost believed
it meant nothing

but it did
a little

like the universe
had recycled a face
to test if i’d fall for it twice

we didn’t talk
no smile
no words
just passed through each other’s mornings
like strangers with history
we hadn’t lived yet

but he became
yellow t-shirt
in our private dictionary
a wordless name
for the kind of person
who makes you feel
something you weren’t planning to feel

and then—
the last day of school

i was tapping out
you were tapping in
our footsteps overlapped
just for a second
a small door opened
half-hinged in time

i looked back
you didn’t
or maybe you did
after i turned away

and i thought,
will i see him next year?
will this stay
just a story
between me and my best friend?

i never learned your name
but i remember
how the morning felt

and now—
when i see yellow
i don’t think of sunshine
or lemons
or flowers

i think of you
i think of almost
i think of
what it felt like
to be seen
just for a moment
and not look away