My Dear School Senior - 2. Chapter 2 Reunion

Tate stood between classmates, staring at the screen playing on the stage for the graduation video, at Richard's gentle, almost elegant smile.

It lasted less than two seconds.

But Tate felt his heart skip a beat.

And just like that, the video moved on to the next photograph.

But Tate remained standing there, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"Tate!"

Someone called out from behind him.

"So, what part of town are you living in these days?"

Tate turned around and managed a few polite replies.

Then he looked around the room once more.

Still no sign of Richard.

Finally, he decided to step out of the hall for some fresh air.

The exit led into a wide corridor.

The lighting was softer out here, and somewhere in the distance, he could hear the low hum of the air-conditioning system.

Tate walked slowly down the corridor.

He was beginning to wonder if he should just head home.

Maybe Richard had only stopped by to sign in before leaving in a hurry. Perhaps something urgent had come up.

Or maybe he was tucked away in some corner, catching up with a few old friends.

Tate suddenly felt ridiculous.

All because of one name, he'd canceled his original plans, spent twenty minutes deciding what to wear, and driven halfway across the city to a school he hadn't set foot in for twenty years.

And now, he didn't even know what he wanted to say to Richard.

Hey?

Long time no see?

How've you been all these years?

He pictured the two of them standing face-to-face, making awkward small talk.

God, he felt like an idiot.

And then, just as he was about to give up, he spotted someone at the far end of the corridor.

A few old sofas were arranged along the floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the corridor.

A man sat alone on one of them.

His head was slightly bowed, his hands clasped together, his elbows resting lightly on his knees.

A paper cup sat beside him.

At first, Tate barely gave him a second glance.

As Tate slowly approached, he felt his heart begin to race.

And then, at some point, without even realizing when, he recognized the man.

Richard.

He recognized him almost instantly.

And yet, he couldn't help noticing how different Richard looked from the boy he remembered.

Richard's dark hair was unevenly cut, falling untidily across his forehead. A few strands of gray showed at his temples. The sides were slightly different lengths, and the hair at the back of his neck had grown out in a messy, as though he hadn't bothered with a proper haircut in a long time.

Tate had always had an eye for clothes.

He could tell expensive fabrics from cheap imitations, and a person's shoes and watch often told him more than they realized.

Richard wore a pale blue shirt beneath a dark brown knitted cardigan.

His clothes were clean, but they had clearly seen years of wear.

It was the kind of outfit Tate hadn't seen anyone his age wear to a social gathering in years.

Conservative in style, dull in color, with something almost elderly about it.

Richard wasn't even forty yet, but he looked as though he'd already reached that stage of life when a man simply stopped caring how he looked.

Richard was looking down at his hands.

He seemed lost in thought.

Every now and then, someone would walk past, and he would look up and offer a polite smile.

If they didn't stop, he would simply lower his head again and look at the phone.

Richard looked distinctly uncomfortable.

That surprised Tate.

The Richard he remembered had never been like this.

At eighteen, Richard could stand in front of an entire classroom and challenge a teacher without a moment's hesitation when he knew they were wrong.

He had even stood up to the principal once, arguing fiercely against a punishment Tate had received unfairly.

He wasn't always the most likable person.

But he had never been afraid to make himself heard.

And now, here he was, sitting alone in a corner of the hall, looking as though he wasn't quite sure he belonged there.

Suddenly, Tate felt an overwhelming urge to go over to him.

He wanted to call out his name.

He wanted to see the look on Richard's face when he raised his head.

Would his eyes widen in surprise, just as they used to when they were young, before his face broke into that familiar grin?

Tate could hardly wait to find out.

Tate straightened his jacket and headed toward the sofas.

Just then, Richard stood up.

He picked up his old coat from beside him and carefully smoothed out the creases he'd left in the sofa cushions.

Then he glanced down at his phone.

Tate slowed his pace.

Richard hadn't noticed him.

He slipped his phone into his pocket, picked up the paper cup, and walked over to a nearby trash can.

After throwing it away, he turned and headed toward the school entrance.

Tate froze for a moment.

Richard was leaving.

The realization sent a sudden rush of panic through him.

He'd been waiting here for nearly two hours.

He couldn't just let Richard walk away.

"Richard!"

He called out, but a burst of loud laughter erupted from the hall at that very moment.

Richard didn't turn around.

Tate quickened his pace.

He wove his way past several groups of people chatting and nearly collided with a server carrying drinks.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Then he hurried on.

Richard had already gone through the doors.

Tate rushed outside after him.

The night air carried a slight chill.

Streetlights cast their glow across the parking lot, and somewhere in the distance, cars could be heard passing along the road.

Richard was walking slowly down the sidewalk.

He looked thinner from behind than Tate remembered.

His brown knitted cardigan appeared faded and worn beneath the streetlights.

Tate stood on the steps, suddenly overcome by an unexpected ache in his chest.

He had no idea what Richard had been through over the past twenty years.

He didn't know how the confident, bright-eyed boy he remembered had become a man who sat alone on the fringes of a crowded high school reunion.

But one thing he knew for certain.

He couldn't let Richard disappear into the night.

Tate hurried down the steps.

"Richard!"

This time, Richard heard him.

He stopped walking.

Slowly, he turned around.

Tate saw his face.

And then Richard smiled.

At first, there was a hint of confusion in his expression. But slowly, recognition dawned, and his smile grew brighter.

The corners of his eyes crinkled.

His lips parted slightly, as though some wonderful memory had suddenly come rushing back to him.

Twenty years had left their mark on his face.

But Tate recognized that smile instantly.

Every greeting he'd prepared in his head suddenly vanished.

"Tate?"

Richard said his name in surprise.

Tate stood before him.

To his own surprise, he suddenly felt a little nervous.

"Hey, Richard," he said with a smile.

"Long time no see."

Richard stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Jesus Christ!"

He stepped forward.

" You little troublemaker!"

And before Tate knew it, Richard had pulled him into a tight, wholehearted hug.

Tate froze for a split second.

Then he wrapped his arms around Richard and held him just as tightly.

In that moment, Tate was genuinely glad he'd come tonight.