I smile. She waves. A train cuts between us. I become a beam of light, bouncing off the top of the staircase to reach her platform. She’s still there. We grab coffee. She’s a physicist. Light is a particle, etching our each encounter on speckled film. Glittering sunrises, flickering candlelight dinners, holiday lanterns. Under dusky moonlight, she shares news with a gleam in her eye. Not the glow of pregnancy—she landed a professorship abroad, tenure track. We’re different wavelengths. Light is a wave, illuminating two paths, diffracting into many outcomes. She’s beside me, but she’s also on the departing train. She waves. I smile.