“It’s going to be okay?” I tell her softly, my heart nearly aching in my chest from the touch.
She looks from our hitched pinkies to me, her brows furrowing.
“What did you just say to me?” she asks.
I swear I can see it—a hint of recogntion.
Before she can figure it out, I pull away. “I’ll see you later,” I mumble then rush out the door, telling myself that it can’t be her.
That she’s not the girl from my memories.
It just can’t.
But if it is…
Then I’m truly and royally fucked.