Two quiet years had passed since Sharon last saw Sid, and his memory had faded into something distant, more like a question than an ache. Her life had changed: new habits, steady routines, growing confidence. Sometimes, she caught herself thinking about that old, confusing boy, the one whose teasing unsettled her in ways she wasn't ready to name. Mostly, she let the memory drift away.
It was Christmas. The city's chill was softened by warmth in the study class, where Sharon stood beside Mrs. Anjali, whisking cake batter and laughing at a clumsy joke only the two of them would ever find funny. This classroom was more than a place to practice sums and essays sometimes, like today, it felt like a second home.
When the cake came out of the oven golden and perfect, Sharon helped serve it, her hands sticky with chocolate and contentment. She'd just settled down with her slice, still warm from the pan, when the door rattled open behind her.
A mild December breeze followed three boys inside, their voices teasing and loud until Sid, at their center, caught Sharon in his line of sight. He hadn't expected anyone familiar; certainly not her. In a flash, he recognized her: older, sure, with the same quietly intent look. Time seemed to hesitate in the doorway with him.
Sharon's heart stuttered. She held her plate a little closer, suddenly hyper-aware of her awkward posture. Sid hadn't changed much, still taller than most, still carrying a trace of mischief in the way he moved. He looked at her quickly, then away, as if he couldn't quite decide whether to greet an old shadow or let the moment slide by.
Sid's friends were already chatting with Mrs. Anjali, swapping memories of old assignments and shared jokes. Sid joined in outwardly casual, inwardly unsettled. He snuck glances at Sharon, his mind spinning through a hundred things he might say, but said none of them. This feeling, this moment, was his alone.
At her desk, Sharon tried to look busy, tracing crumbs on her cake plate and glancing up only when Sia nudged her. "Is everything okay?" her cousin whispered, eyes narrowed with the kind of suspicion only family can manage. Sharon shook her head, offering a half-smile, masking nerves as curiosity.
Minutes blurred. Sid and his friends finished their conversation and left as easily as they had come, no words exchanged across the invisible aisle that hovered between past and present.
As Sharon's thoughts began to quiet, Mrs. Anjali's voice floated in: "They were my old students, you know." Sharon looked up. The teacher's next words landed softly, but changed something deep inside her. "That boy's name is Sid; he and his friends used to study here years ago."
A simple name, finally spoken aloud, threaded together all the fragments of questions Sharon had tucked away in silent corners of her mind. She watched the classroom door a little longer after that, half-expecting the world to shift. It didn't but a tiny part of her wondered what might come next.
And outside, blending into the crowds again, Sid couldn't quite shake the feeling that some stories find a way of looping back, bringing people face to face with the memories they thought they'd outgrown.