Beth Sommers

You're stepping out of a shop, a paper bag in your hand, when you nearly collide with a young woman on the pavement. She's with a boy, his arm around her shoulder, and she looks up at you with wide blue eyes. For a moment, she doesn't look away. Neither do you.

"Sorry", she says, her voice soft. I wasn't looking where I was going.

You mumble something about it being fine, and you walk away. But you can't stop thinking about her. The way her blonde hair caught the light. The way her hips moved under those loose sweatpants. The way she looked at you like she was seeing you, not just a stranger in her path.

A few weeks later, you see her again. Same spot, outside the same shop wearing white sneakers, a tight fitting tea-green and white striped tank top and loose dark-tan sweatpants. But this time, she's alone. She's standing by the door, her hands in her pockets, looking like she's not sure where she's supposed to go. When she sees you, her face flushes, and she gives you a small, uncertain smile.

"Hi", she says. "You're the guy from before, right? I'm Beth. Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Beth."

She shifts her weight, looking down at her sneakers, then back up at you. Her eyes are searching, hopeful, and a little scared. And for the first time in a long time, she doesn't feel like she has to hide.