Infinity- (noun) [ inˈfinitē ]
The state or quality of being endless; a number greater than any assignable quality.
The last time the boy saw the girl was four years later.
They were on the same flight, going to the same destination.
Long ago, the boy and the girl had thought that they would never see each other again. That maybe their extraordinary something had already happened. And then, on an evening cross-country flight, the girl found a seat in the back of the plane and eagerly sat down.
The boy, who was sitting next to her, stared at her in awe.
“Is that you?” He asked, quietly, tentatively. The girl turned to stare at him, and slowly, her jaw dropped.
“It-oh lord-it is me. And it’s you,” she breathed, and her throat turned to the size of the head of a pin, and the boy was smiling at her in awe and wonder.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” the boy admitted, and the girl nodded, a single tear sliding down her cheek.
“But we’re infinite,” she replied, and her voice was cracked, more tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and falling from her cheeks to her chin to her neck.
“Endless,” the boy agreed, and he wiped away her tears with his thumb, electricity surging at the contact of skin-to-skin.
“Why are you crying?” He asked.
“Because I’m a girl. Because it’s nice to see you,” she said, and he chuckled a throaty chuckle.
“It’s nice to see you too.”
There was a comfortable silence that hung in the air, diffusing through the oxygen that surrounded them.
“I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten Cheetos,” the girl sputtered a few moments later. “If I’d chosen Bugles, or Tostitos, or something that you didn’t like. If I decided I didn’t want food,” she said, and it sounded more like a thought than a question, but the boy answered anyway.
“It’s all a coincidence. I’m a coincidence, and you’re one, too,” he told her with a bright grin.
“A very good coincidence, then. You and me.” The girl stared up at him with her brilliant eyes and he stared down at her, and he only looked away when the pilot began talking over the intercom.
And then, when the plane took off, they talked and laughed and stared out the window at the darkening sky and the sparkling city that lay beneath them.
“It’s funny,” the boy mumbled, leaning back in his seat a few moments later.
“What is?” The girl asked.
“Everything. Life. You. Me. Infinity,” he said, smiling at her, his eyes twinkling.
“You’re starting to sound like John Green,” the girl replied, grinning. The boy laughed.
“How about ‘forever’ will be our ‘always?’” He suggested, and the girl raised her eyebrows. Inside, though, her heart was leaping and her stomach was churning.
“Okay,” she responded, and again, the two laughed.
“So. Why are you on this flight?” The boy asked once they had calmed down. The girl blushed and looked away.
“I’m-um-I’m moving,” she explained, and it hurt to say the words aloud. “College. I’m going to doctorate school.”
The boy felt like he had been gutted.
“That’s amazing,” he replied, although it wasn’t. I don’t see you but I’ll miss you like the Hazel missed Augustus, he wanted to say, but he didn’t, because he didn’t trust his voice.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Really, it is. I’m proud,” the boy told her, and he was, but at the same time, he knew that there wouldn’t be any more happy coincidences.
“I’ll miss you,” the girl said, and her words were quick and flighty and high-pitched.
“I’ll miss you, too,” the boy replied, and he forced a smile onto his face and kept it there until the girl had drifted off into a golden, blissful sleep.