A moment left behind

                                    

                                          

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual lunchtime chaos, but Luigi barely noticed the clamor. He sat at a corner table, his curly hair falling over his eyes as he stirred the lukewarm soup in his bowl. Around him, the other inmates laughed, shouted, and shuffled trays, but Luigi's mind was elsewhere.
The memory was crystal clear, sharper than it had any right to be after all these years.
It had been sophomore year. Back then, Luigi had a group of friends—kids like him, who didn't quite fit into any one crowd but found comfort in each other. They weren't popular, but they were close, and that was enough. Until the day it wasn't.
They'd made plans to meet at the soccer field during lunch, a routine they'd had for months. Luigi had gotten held up in class, and by the time he made it out, the hallways were empty, everyone already heading to their next destination. He sprinted toward the field, his sneakers squeaking on the wet tiles, but when he got there, the field was empty.
They'd left without him.
Luigi stood at the edge of the bleachers, clutching the straps of his bag as the realization sank in. It wasn't the first time he'd been excluded—not really—but something about this time stung more.
"Hey, you okay?"
The voice startled him. He turned to see her—Clara—standing there, her cocoa-brown hair catching the sunlight that peeked through the clouds. Her hazel eyes, framed by her messy fringe, were soft with concern. She wore a denim jacket over a floral dress, and her presence seemed to light up the dreary afternoon.
Luigi's eyes lingered on her for a moment, studying her features as she walked toward him. Her almond-shaped eyes were warm, a striking contrast to his own deep brown ones. Her lips, curved into that kind smile that could melt anyone's defenses, looked like they were always on the verge of laughter. Even the way she walked, with a casual yet purposeful stride, seemed full of energy, like she had something worth running toward. He wondered if she was aware of the way she affected people, the way she made him feel seen in a world that often ignored him.
Luigi shifted awkwardly, glancing back at the field. "Yeah. I was just... looking for someone."
Clara tilted her head, studying him for a moment. Her gaze softened, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned against the bleachers. Then, as if she could read his mind, she said, "It's not a great feeling, is it? Being left behind."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. He didn't know what to say, so he shrugged, hoping it would end the conversation. But Clara didn't leave.
Instead, she smiled—small, almost shy. "Come on," she said, nodding toward the cafeteria building. "I was just heading back for lunch. You can sit with me, if you want."
Luigi hesitated. He wasn't used to people like Clara—bubbly, outgoing, so full of life—taking notice of him. But there was something about her that made it hard to say no.
Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, the sunlight reflecting off her hair, giving it a soft glow. She had that way of making everything feel a little brighter. In that moment, Luigi realized something: she wasn't just offering him a seat at her table. She was offering him a glimpse into a world where people didn't just disappear, a world where he mattered.
"Okay," he said quietly, following her back inside.
They didn't talk much that day, just shared a table and ate in companionable silence. But to Luigi, it had meant the world. For a brief moment, someone had seen him, not as a shadow or an afterthought, but as a person who mattered.
In the years since, he'd replayed that moment countless times, wondering if it had been as important to Clara as it had been to him. Did she even remember? Or had it been just another one of her countless acts of kindness, soon forgotten?
Back in the present, Luigi stared down at his untouched tray, the memory fading into the clatter of the cafeteria around him. He could still see her face, hear her voice, feel the warmth of her presence.
And now, all these years later, he was still chasing that moment. Still chasing her.