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I spent three years chasing my childhood sweetheart, Carson Sanchez. He remained distant the entire time. On his birthday, I gave him a sachet I had embroidered by hand over three months. Not long after, I saw it hanging from his desk mate's backpack. The moon stitched into the fabric swayed gently, then slipped, by accident, into a muddy puddle. Lauren Gallagher looked at Carson with feigned distress and bent down to pick it up. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I got your thing dirty. I'll get it back." Carson caught her wrist and said, "Forget it. It's not important. Go finish your homework. Your overall score dropped three points recently." I stared at the needle marks covering my palms, and for the first time, I thought: 'Forget it. I returned to being just his neighbor, going to and from school as usual. After SATs exams, I went abroad. Five years later, I came back to register my marriage. Carson was the one who came to pick me up. He handed me that sachet, looking at me gently. "Do you remember? You gave this to me." "All these years," he said, "I've been waiting for you to come back."