We were strangers when we first met, but not the same kind. You remembered me. I didn’t remember you. And somehow you stayed. You looked at me like I mattered, even when I didn’t know who you were. Now we’re strangers again. Only this time, I remember everything. And you’re trying to forget. There’s a chance I’ll see you tomorrow. That thought messes with me more than I want to admit. I don’t know if you’ll be there. I don’t know if we’ll talk. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to look at you or if I’ll just pretend you’re not there. Maybe that’s the only way to protect myself. Seeing you again feels like reopening a wound I thought was starting to heal. Like all the cracks I’ve tried to hide are suddenly exposed. I wonder if you’ll notice. Maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll look right through me and I’ll have to pretend it doesn’t break me.

Parts of me still long for you, quietly and without drama. It’s not the kind of longing that shouts or demands. It’s the kind that lingers in the back of my mind, showing up in little moments when I least expect it. I think about you more than I probably should. You’ve made peace by forgetting me. I’m still carrying all the memories I can’t let go of the good, the bad, and all the in-between. Sometimes I wonder if you ever feel a fraction of the weight I do. If there’s a small part of you that remembers the way I used to look at you, like you were the only thing that made sense. Tomorrow, I’ll see you. And maybe you won’t even flinch. But I will. Maybe I’ll smile to hide it. Maybe I’ll look away so you don’t see how much it still hurts. But no matter what happens, this moment will live inside me long after we’re strangers again.

Even from a distance, I’m rooting for you, Engr.