I never learned your name, but I memorized your every exit from the classroom as if you were a sunset that might not return. Our eyes touched more than our hands ever could. And your smile— God, your smile was a language. One I studied like scripture. Isn’t it strange? We existed in the same frame, year after year, never once brushing words, yet you live in me more than most who held me. Maybe in another life we’ll get past the silence. Or maybe that was the magic— you were the poem, and I was the pause that preserved it.