When Your Name Found Mine
Chapter Five — The Fair
The Fall Fair took over the whole south end of campus. The lawn behind the arts building had been transformed into a maze of food stalls, strings of lights, and carnival games that made the night feel like a scene from a movie.
The smell of kettle corn and cinnamon sugar drifted through the cold air, mixing with the faint smokiness from the bonfire at the far end of the fairground. Somewhere in the distance, a student band was playing a cover of a song I half-recognized, their music spilling between bursts of laughter and the clinking of game tokens.
Dave found me near the cider stand, exactly where we'd agreed to meet. He was wearing the same worn North State hoodie I'd seen him in earlier that week, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
"Perfect timing," he said, handing me a paper cup. "Still hot."
The cider warmed my hands instantly, the steam curling into the night air. "Thanks," I said. "This place is… more than I expected."
"Yeah," he said with a grin. "It's one of my favorite things about fall here. Everyone comes out, even the people who usually just hide in the library."
We wandered toward the bonfire, the ground crunching under our shoes from the layer of dry leaves. The firelight painted everything in gold and orange, casting moving shadows over faces and making the night feel closer, warmer.
For a while we just stood side by side, watching the flames lick at the logs, sparks spinning upward like fireflies before disappearing into the dark.
Then Dave tilted his head toward the game booths. "Come on. I'm winning you something."
I laughed. "Pretty confident, aren't you?"
"You'll see."
We ended up at the ring toss. Dave paid for three tries and lined up his shot, his tongue caught slightly between his teeth as he aimed. The first ring missed by a mile. The second bounced off the bottle neck.
"You're doing great," I teased.
"Just warming up," he said, grinning as he tossed the third ring.
It landed perfectly over the bottle. The booth attendant reached up and handed him a small plush fox, its fabric a little worn from too many hands but still charming.
Dave turned to me. "For you."
I took it, my fingers brushing his in a way that sent a little jolt up my arm. "Thank you," I said softly.
We moved on, weaving between stalls selling fried dough, hot pretzels, and caramel apples. At one point, a group of students came running past us toward the stage where another band was setting up, their laughter spilling into the air like music of its own.
"You want to check it out?" Dave asked.
"Sure."
The band was playing under a canopy strung with fairy lights, the crowd swaying along to the rhythm. We found a spot near the back where we could still hear without having to yell over the music.
Dave leaned in a little so I could hear him. "This song reminds me of freshman year."
"Good memories?" I asked.
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Mostly."
I almost asked him what he meant, but the way he said it made me think there was a story there — one that wasn't ready to be told.
Instead, we stood in silence, listening. And as the chorus swelled, I caught my reflection in the dark of his eyes — and for a moment, it felt like the music and the crowd and the fairground lights had all blurred away.
---
Later, we walked back toward the bonfire. The crowd had thinned, and the night had grown colder, our breaths visible in the air.
Dave stopped suddenly. "Hey," he said, pulling something from his hoodie pocket. "Found this earlier."
He held out a pressed maple leaf, deep red, its edges just starting to curl.
I took it, surprised at how delicate it felt between my fingers. "It's perfect."
"Thought you'd like it," he said with a shrug, as if it was nothing. But I could tell it wasn't nothing.
We sat near the fire, not too close, the heat wrapping around us in waves. The fox plush sat in my lap, and the leaf rested carefully beside it.
"Do you ever think about…" I hesitated, then started again. "Do you ever think about how some things find you by accident?"
His gaze flicked to mine. "Like what?"
"Like… I don't know. A song you weren't looking for. A person you didn't expect to meet."
He was quiet for a long moment. "Yeah," he said finally. "Sometimes those are the best things."
Something in the way he said it made my pulse quicken. It was the same tone I'd imagined in the letter — that quiet certainty, that weight behind simple words.
I wanted to ask. I almost did. The question was on the tip of my tongue: Dave… did you write me a letter?
But then someone tossed another log on the fire, sending a burst of sparks into the night, and the moment passed.
---
When the fair started winding down, we walked back toward North Residence together. The campus was quiet, the path lit only by lampposts and the occasional glow from dorm windows.
"I'm glad you came tonight," Dave said.
"Me too," I admitted.
We stopped outside my building. The air felt heavier somehow, like it was holding something between us.
"Goodnight, Evelyn," he said, his voice low.
"Goodnight, Dave."
He didn't move right away. Neither did I. And for a second, it felt like we might step closer, might cross that invisible line between almost and something more.
But then he smiled — that slow, careful smile — and turned to go.
I watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
Up in my room, I set the fox on my desk beside the letter. The two looked like they belonged together — the plush, a tangible piece of tonight; the letter, a mystery from who knows when.
And as I lay in bed, the sounds of the fair still echoing faintly in the distance, I couldn't help thinking that maybe the letter wasn't the start of this story.
Maybe it was just the first clue.