In kindergarten, I met my wife; I wouldn't see her again in years; but when I met her again, I didn't know it was her.

It was the first time I was apart from my parents ever. They were in tears leaving me alone with a couple of strangers in charge and a lot of kids. I, however, was surprisingly relaxed. I didn't feel particularly excited, but it was a new experience and, back then, I was more of an adventurer.

While they were kissing me goodbye for the tenth time, I saw a girl crying a river at the next room's door. Her parents were leaving without looking back and she was on her knees, her face red and wet. Her teacher and the assistant were doing their best to calm her down to no avail.

I could hear the kids laughing at her. My saliva tasted weird, my heart started to beat faster, and my face started to turn red. My parents thought I was getting nervous about beginning kindergarten. It wasn't that.

During the break at 9 AM, I saw her sitting in a corner in the playground. All the kids were running around and had made friends already, but she was there all alone. That was something we had in common. It's not like kids didn't approach me; it was that I was thinking about her tears.

I went there and started to feel all red and nervous again, but I clenched my fists and decided I had to do it.

My shadow was all over her and she took a while to realize I was there. She raised her head. Snot was coming out of her nose, her eyes were red and so was her face. She was biting her lower lip. I couldn't say anything; my legs couldn't stand the weight of my body, so I sat. I looked at her hands. They were trembling. I moved mine towards hers. I felt the trembling.