“Fair warning,” he had written to her, two summers back. “If you really want this to happen, I have been known to be clingy.” She stared at the letter quietly, lips pursed in slight disapproval. Then she sighed, closed the tab, and tried to do some actual work. The one she was being paid to do? Instead of unearthing old letters that probably hold no meaning anymore—except her.
Two summers have passed since then. She still doesn’t know what he meant. It had never happened; the clingy-ness he had warned her about, along with a number of things they said that they had both since forgotten. Echoes of it still linger in the recesses of her memory.
She could unearth them. Dig up the letters and reread them while her heart sank heavily in her chest. It was unfair of her to try to remember what he had forgotten. After all, she had forgotten too, hadn’t she?
Maybe he was just that good at holding it back. He was also pretty good at subconsciously making