After twelve years, I finally knew what happened to Noah and it was because the universe conspired to sit me at a table next to his parents. “I’m sure he would be happy to hear from you,” his mom said as she scribbled down his email address on a loose napkin with a grin from ear to ear. After three hours of staring at my computer screen, all I was able to type out was “Dear Noah” before closing the screen. There’s always tomorrow, I thought.
I mean, what’s twelve years and a day?