The first time we met was at the pool: endless laps and tired smiles. Curly hair falling over thick glasses. You stood tall—taller than me— And yet, you never made me feel small. Bronze Cross was hard, but your soft reassurance and a bright smile helped me get through it.

The second time was in the pews. We locked eyes, and just for a moment, I froze. Heart beating so loud, I swore the whole church could hear. I almost forgot the notes I was supposed to sing. Could it really be you? I thought God was playing matchmaker— And maybe He still is. But still, I was too scared to say anything.

The third time was at a festival. Miles away from home, yet you still found me. Brushed shoulders, stolen glances, and a table right beside mine. What are the chances? Maybe this time you really did notice. That almost made me go up and say hi— Almost.

As I lie here, with the start of National Lifeguarding drawing closer, I wonder:

Was this meant to be? Did you notice me those times we met? Did you even like me back? Or am I just delusional? And you've moved on with your life, while your memory lingers in mine, and I fade from yours.

Three times, and you managed to slip by. So the next time I see you—whether it's in the waves, in the pews, or at another festival—I'll make sure to say hi. Because I'm not just the girl who almost said something— I'm the girl who finally does.