Even from afar, her red hair stood out to anyone who was looking, the colour of the sunset presented in her locks. Her freckles were like stars that adorned her face and arms, a galaxy confined to a body. Her smile was the sun, drawing you in and making sure you stayed in her orbit.

I knew I didn't stand a chance. Our paths wouldn't have crossed if it hadn't been for fate intervening, deciding that this would be funny, so see me suffer and pine over the girl of my dreams, who hadn't spent a second of her life thinking about me.

There I was, spending my summer working next to a beautiful girl, in a clothing store that was mediocre at best.

I had introduced myself the first day, when we were working the same shift. I had said "I'm Maya," to which she said, "I'm Jamie," and I nodded in response. A doomed day, where I was forced to spend my time trying not to stare, and trying not to make a fool of myself.

Now another doomed day has come upon me. I am sitting on a bench, opposite to her, and more than a hundred days have passed since that summer. Still, I can't think of anything else. The way i could make her laugh. The way she opened up to me.

"So," she says, a soft smile on her face, "what did you want to talk about?"

I fidget with my shirt and my leg is bouncing away, all of which she can't see because we're sitting at a picnic table. Attempts to collect myself are useless and all I can do is just blurt it out.

"I like you."

Jamie giggles in response, "I like you too? What's this about?"

"No I," I say, trying to figure out how to make it clearer, "I like like you. Ya know?"

Aside from sounding like someone in primary school, it seems like she did get the message. Her face falling tells me enough about how she feels but I can't run away.

"Oh," She says softly, eyes flitting away from me, suddenly very interested in the table.

"Yeah," I say, "Sorry."

Her auburn eyes meet mine again, "Don't say sorry, it's okay. I should be saying sorry."

"Why?"

"Because," she starts, but shakes her head and starts again, "Well, I don't like you, like that. But I do like you, as a friend. I know how much that must hurt, so for that I'm saying sorry."

"It's not your fault," I say, on the verge of tears.

"It's not yours either."