He misses her.
But he’s afraid. Afraid that one day, by some random twist of fate, they’ll meet in a gathering which will be held at a former classmate’s house. All of their common friends will be in attendance — to share stories, watch movies, make more memories. They’ll be laughing at the same time, with the same people, but not directly facing one another. He’ll hear her bragging about her grades on a major subject which definitely has some heavy math content; she’ll hear him utter a line or two commenting on a trivial anecdote a girl friend seated beside him so enthusiastically tells everyone about. Their gazes will meet once in a while, but his bruised ego will prevent him from letting a hint of sadness show through his eyes and so he will look away before any of it slips out. Someone will notice something’s amiss; he’ll heave a sigh and give her a half-smile while she’ll ignore his presence and feign indifference.
Things will get more awkward by the minute. She will decide to leave, tell everyone about the curfew imposed by her parents — this translates as a lame excuse but will stand by it nonetheless as it’s the only escape. She’ll bid them goodbye. She’ll vaguely remember what he’s said of her months ago and her penchant for running away. He’ll follow her silently to the gate. When they get outside, he’ll grab her by the hand to have her face him and she’ll not be able to say anything because of utter surprise. He’ll pull her unto him and embrace her tight before she can even react and struggle from his grasp. Her arms will remain at her sides, powerless — unwilling to hug him back yet reluctant to push him away just the same. And then he will say that three-word, three-syllable, eight-letter sentence that will make her vision blurry and her glasses foggy.
i miss you, too.