She had seen him before. Beyond the boy who eased the awkwardness in early autumn, he had already taken root in her heart back in sixth grade.
He had seen her too. Beyond that summer in middle school, he had watched her fight her way through sixth grade.
She thought he didn't know. He thought she didn't understand.
Those seven summers of circling around one another held her stubborn efforts and a sorrow hard to notice.
Those seven summers that had passed them by were filled with the sounds of autumn, taking on a warm hue.
It's all right. I can take my time telling you about the seven autumns we missed.
