In another life, this might happen in a different setting.
You will be in a village in Siem Reap, Cambodia, on a trip you both have decided on a whim because you want to see the sunrise in Angkor Wat. You will sit next to her as she surfs through radio channels, trying to find a station that plays at least a couple of English songs. You will try to listen to each channel she skips amidst the cackling buzz of poor transmission. Your shoulder will brush hers and your arm will touch hers, her warmth tangible even beneath two layers of clothes. Your knee will lean to bump onto hers, yours bony compared to hers, but it’s never a question every night you sleep with your feet tangled with hers. Your fingers will brush against her dark hair, and you will be very, very tempted to run your fingers in them. You will glance at her and find that small, serious frown between her eyebrows, an endearing trait you’ve grown familiar with, and you will be very, very tempted to soothe the frown.
She will stop at one station that plays Ella Fitzgerald’s Let’s Fall in Love, she will turn to meet your eyes, and she will smile, really smile at you.
You will fall a little harder.