She had a name so familiar it felt like your own. Picture her standing there, a mug of coffee in one hand, the other on the window, fingertips pressed against the glass. Just to see, she says, just to see if it’s too cold.
For you.

It doesn’t matter what the weather channel says. Doesn’t matter what the iPhone broadcasted. It isn’t cold till she’s looked out and evaluated every person’s scarf, coat, and jacket.

Freezing, she confirms. You can borrow my sweater.

Remember her like this. Remember how she cared. How she asked if you were hungry, made sure you charged your phone, that you didn’t get lost. Remember how you could have loved her.


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