"Here's your change, sir." I hand the customer his money, and do a double take, looking out the window.
I could've sworn I saw....
No, never mind. It's not him. It's never him. I'll never see him again.
Never feel his touch again.
I check the clock; my shift is over. I could take over-time, but it never helps anything.
I switch out with the new girl, Sarai. She's still in school, a student who came from India. Nice enough, but not as nice as him. Nobody can compete with him.
I nod at Sarai, and make my voyage home. Tomorrow 5 Seconds of Summer plays here, in Sydney.
I'm glad I did what I did. They've gotten so far, and I'm proud.
My mum greets me at the door.
"How was work sweetie?"
"I sell guitars and live with my mum. Make what you want of that." I smile at her weakly.
She suddenly turned nice, after I sacrificed my freedom. But I know better. Nobody changes that fast.
"Well, at least you're not homeless!" She pokes my side and I 'laugh'. I'd rather be dead than go through what I am right now.
It's been three years, yet I'm still haunted by the past. Our last moments together.
"I'll let you sleep, you look tired. Tell me if you're hungry." Mum hesitantly says, and I go straight to my room. I try to sleep, but I know what will happen.
I stand in the front row, staring up at him. He's grown to be so fucking hot. That was mine once. All mine, to myself and for nobody else.
"I'd like to dedicate this song to someone very special to me, I don't know if she's here, but hi if you are. It's been several years." He speaks into the microphone, and I watch his bandmates. They know.
The song is called Close as Strangers. Not all of it is accurate to the situation, but I still understand perfectly what he means. He keeps looking in my direction. I can't tell if he recognizes me, but we make eye contact at least once.
I cry. A lot.
After the concert, I stand outside the tour bus. A few fans join me, and we wait.
He comes out of the bus, and looks at us. He calls to the others, and they come out to sign a few things and take pictures.
When he comes around to me, my mouth opens and closes. He hands me a folded up piece of paper, and gives me one last, sad look before he retreats with the others.
He pre-wrote something. I know he did. Tears fall from my eyes, but I don't bother to wipe them away.
On the walk home, I can't stop staring at the note.
Meet me at your spot. Tomorrow, at 12 am.
I smile. He remembers.
And I do too.