Ginny didn’t know how it happened, only that it had. One moment it didn’t exist, and the next it was all there had ever been and all there ever would be.

​

Perhaps it began all the way back in kindergarten, when she and Rohan were assigned as bus buddies: doomed to sit next to each other on their way to and from school every day until the end of time. But that was only because their houses were right next to each other and shared a front yard. Of course it made sense for the kindergarten bus monitors to sit neighbors next to each other.

​

So, yes. Maybe the entirety of Ginny and Rohan’s lives was foreshadowed in kindergarten. After all, one day, they married each other on the playground in recess. It was a frigid January day, and Ginny had forgotten her gloves on the classroom’s coat rack. Naturally, Rohan offered his, but the rest of the class deemed that only married mommies and daddies could share gloves. So, of course, they decided to marry each other. Ginny wore Rohan’s little gloves for the rest of recess, failing to notice when Rohan’s little hands turned red. After he came back from the nurse with little band-aids, Ginny returned the gloves and said she didn’t want to be a mommy anymore because she didn’t want to do all the bills like her mommy did. 

​

But maybe it wasn’t as simple and clear-cut as that. Maybe Ginny and Rohan’s future couldn’t be ascertained from that singular snowy day. Maybe their future had been built, brick by brick, through all the moments that followed.

​

Like when Ginny offered Rohan the left-side aisle seat on the bus every day so he could talk to his friend across the row. Or, when the weather was nice enough, Rohan would wait in Ginny’s front yard so they could bike to school together. And then again in the afternoon, when they would sit at Ginny’s dining room table, silently doing the homework that seemed to take longer and longer as the years went on. Ginny at the head, in her dad’s seat, and Rohan to her left, in her mom’s. And, in the later years, when the dining room table was replaced and became circular, they still sat in the same spots.

​

Perhaps their future was in all the moments when they sat shoulder-to-shoulder on Ginny’s family room couch, after homework time, silently watching iCarly and Lab Rats. Ginny would sit in the corner, with her knees up, and Rohan sat on the left, all sprawled out. 

​

iCarly soon became Grey’s Anatomy. Rohan still waited for Ginny every morning on his bike before racing her to middle school. They would compete to see who could bike the farthest up the giant hill to the school before gravity stopped their forward progress. And sometimes, Rohan let Ginny win. But sometimes, Ginny pulled the brakes and skidded her new sneakers on the pavement earlier than necessary. 

​

Ginny would sit in companionable silence at Rohan’s backyard picnic table while he practiced batting for the upcoming baseball season, the crack of the bat only occasionally interrupting the cadence of whatever audiobook Ginny was working through. It was only when Rohan’s mother stood in the doorway waving her fist that Rohan would put down his bat for the day. They migrated inside to do homework together; Rohan helped with pre-algebra, and Ginny lectured on the importance of capitalizing proper nouns. 

​

When they were twelve, Rohan enlisted Ginny’s help in making a valentine for a girl named Brooke in his advanced math class. Ginny glued the construction paper hearts, then she disappeared from his house in a blink of an eye, scurrying back to her yard. For a few months, they didn’t sit side-by-side and knee-to-knee when watching season eight and the infamous plane crash scene. She didn’t sit with him for batting practice, and he wasn’t around to offer witty commentary on the Vine skits she taught herself. It was only after he appeared on her back porch with fruit snacks and a “sorry for not hanging out with you recently” that Ginny finally let him in again. His breakup with Brooke Reynolds after three months was never discussed further. 

​

When they were fourteen, Rohan’s mother taught him to drive the shiny new Ford F150. Ginny would watch Rohan inch down the street, white-knuckling the steering wheel, while on her way to dance every day. For her first big dance recital, Ginny invited all her friends. The gaggle of girls sat in the front row with their phones out to record every second. Rohan sat four rows back, with both their parents. He didn’t have flowers to shower Ginny with after the recital like the parents or videos like her friends. He only sidled up to her left side as they left the auditorium. His arms were stuffed in his coat pockets in that nervous way he had as they stepped out into the frozen January. Ginny wore a coat over her comp dress and her torn sneakers instead of point shoes. She had left her leg warmers in the car earlier that day. With his eyes glued to the salt-crusted asphalt, Rohan whispered how proud he was to see her nail the variation she’d spent hours practicing in front of his family room mirror. 

​

For freshman year homecoming, Rohan invited Ginny with a Pas de Deux sign: a dance for two. Ginny picked out a frilly pink sundress she knew matched the bowtie he loved to wear every year at Christmas (even if he claimed to wear it ironically). For pictures, Rohan stood on the left and Ginny grinned from the right with a corsage the same color as her eyes. In heels, she loomed over him, but when it was time to leave, the parents ushered them to the cars while Rohan waited for her to change out of those painful heels and into her sneakers. But that night, Ginny called her mom to pick her up from the school’s auditorium. She was supposed to carpool with Rohan to the afterparty, but he left the dance early with Brooke Reynolds. 

​

Ginny tried to follow her parents’ advice; she really did. She would approach him in passing periods or lunch, intent on talking things out, but somehow Brooke always appeared from the shadows to whisk him away before Ginny could say more than "hi". She would show up with her books for afternoon batting practice, but Brooke’s stony gaze across the picnic table made it clear Ginny’s presence wasn’t appreciated. Nor was her continued open invite to hang out after dinner. 

​

During freshman year, Ginny almost failed math, and Rohan received Cs on every English paper. But when spring baseball started, it was only Ginny accompanying Rohan’s mother in the stands for every game, regardless of hail or beating sun. And so, Brooke Reynolds was dumped a second time, and Rohan spent the first week of summer catching up on the latest season of Grey’s Anatomy before Ginny let him watch with her again. His gangly frame took up half of the worn couch now, but Ginny didn’t mind. Her spot curled up in the corner enabled her to run her fingers through his hair he never seemed to brush any other time. Rohan never noticed, but she always averted her gaze when their mothers would walk past with cautionary stares. 

​

Sophomore year started off as Ginny’s favorite. Immediately after school, she would sit at Rohan’s backyard picnic table and wrestle with her homework while he practiced batting. Then, after supper, he would sit in her basement with his own homework while she practiced at the barre installed the Christmas before. There was hardly ever time during the week for Grey’s Anatomy anymore. 

​

They remained in this comfortable routine all year. Hardly ever seeing each other in school due to separate schedules but then remaining inseparable each evening. Their routine was only interrupted on the first night of winter break. Both their parents were out at a Christmas party, so it was just the two of them in the house when Ginny slipped at the barre practicing a new turn. Rohan, who hadn’t been very engrossed in his Wii baseball game anyway, almost made it to her before her head smashed into the cement floor. 

​

It was only because Ginny was clear-minded enough to crack a Grey’s Anatomy joke that Rohan decided against the overpriced, overstimulating taxi ride to the hospital. Though technically, legally, he wasn’t supposed to know how to drive, he braved the ice-slicked streets in the Ford F150. Helpless eyes watched Ginny from the hard hospital waiting room chairs as she was rushed into an examination room and the hospital staff frantically tried to reach their parents. Ginny didn't remember the slip, the catch, the frantic scramble to Rohan’s mom’s truck one house over, or the four traffic violation tickets from those damn red-light cameras. All she knew was that she wouldn’t be dancing for some time. 

​

A major concussion didn’t stop Ginny from attending baseball games, though. She sat with Rohan’s mother at every game, even when Brooke Reynolds began showing up to games, and then began showing up in one of Rohan’s spare jerseys. Rohan’s mother expressed her dislike toward Brooke wearing her son’s jersey, but Rohan paid no heed. 

​

Eventually, Ginny tried to invite the girl to sit with her and Rohan’s mother, but every invite was left unanswered. When Brooke joined their morning bike ride to school, Ginny wished to bond over the nice purses Brooke carried everywhere, or the latest water bottle she always bought first. She would talk about anything if it helped her better understand this girl who was the subject of Rohan’s infatuation. But Brooke didn’t speak to her unless it was to ask if she could steal Rohan for the afternoon or a baby picture for whatever reason. Eventually, everyone in Rohan’s life voiced their opinions on Brooke and her cold demeanor, but Rohan didn’t care. She was kind to him. Surely, she would come around if others were kind to her back. 

​

That summer, when Ginny was medically cleared to dance again, she auditioned for a travel team that practiced six days a week. Rohan treated her to ice cream when she made the cut before getting picked up by Brooke to go to their new job at the Little League concession stands. He often invited her to visit them on the job, even promising to slip her a candy bar of her choice, but the cold glare and pursed lips from Brooke kept her away. 

​

Rohan didn’t bike to school with Ginny anymore, instead opting to drive with Brooke. Ginny biked to school alone and spent more time practicing on the barre in her basement now that Brooke sat with Rohan during his backyard batting practice. Ginny missed junior year homecoming for a dance recital, the only recital of hers not attended by Rohan: he was at the other dance with the other girl. No, junior year did not start as well as sophomore year. And it only got worse. Rohan’s mom was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer in late September, and she was gone the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Ginny knew as soon as Rohan was marked absent in first period that Monday morning. Her first conversation with Brooke since the summer before had been to ask if she’d heard from Rohan yet that day. Brooke had laughed off Ginny’s concerns, but Ginny knew. By the start of second period, she was back in their neighborhood, climbing the stairs to his room. His helpless eyes confirmed what her heart dreaded.

​

It was the only time in her entire life she’d hear or see Rohan weep. 

​

His twin-sized bed was too small to sit side-by-side and shoulder-to-shoulder, so Ginny sat against the wall, her fingers running through his soft, wavy hair as his head rested against her chest. The posters of Babe Ruth and the 2016 Cubs’ roster kept watch as they watched eight hours of Family Guy reruns—mundane and mindless. Not a word was said all day; not a word was needed. Ginny slept on his floor that night, but not in a weird way, she promised her gob-smacked parents. It was just sleep. Yes, it was at a guy’s house, but it was just Rohan.

​

The funeral was two days after Thanksgiving. Ginny wore her mom’s old black tweed dress while Rohan traded his pink bowtie for a tailored navy suit. And it was she who wore Rohan’s mother’s old fascinator with a clipped-on veil just above the bridge of her nose. Ginny sat beside Rohan during the service: he on the left and she on the right. And every time he looked like he might cry again, she would grab his hand beneath the pew and mutter nonsense about baseball and Wii, purposefully ignoring the stares and murmurs of the classmates and family behind them. She even stood beside him on the church steps after the service while Rohan received saccharine condolences from couples who just couldn’t believe how big he’d gotten.

​

She didn’t say a word about standing in four-inch Mary Janes for hours or about the beating sun on her black, tweed-clad shoulders. And while Rohan entertained yet another of his mother’s high school acquaintances, it was Ginny’s shrewd gaze that first noticed Brooke Reynolds slipping into an Uber down the street. It was Ginny who linked arms with Rohan and pivoted, turning him so his back was to the girlfriend peeling away from his mother’s funeral without an uttered goodbye.  

​

This time, Brooke Reynolds did the dumping. 

​

They both stopped eating: Rohan for grief and Ginny for dance. 

​

Now legally allowed to drive, Rohan drove Ginny to school in the now beat-up Ford F150 every day. In the afternoons, when Rohan began meeting with a therapist, Ginny doubled her hours spent on the barre. 

​

Junior year slipped away in quiet reflection. Rohan and his father sat with Ginny for most meals, noting—alongside her parents—what was and wasn’t eaten. He was the only one to let emotion get the best of him when confronting her. It was the first adult argument they had, but Ginny only remembered bits and pieces. 

​

The Ford F150 was parked in a Jewel Osco parking lot. Rohan kept his voice quiet, his eyes fiery for the first time in a long time as he aired his grievances and listed his fears. She shook her head a thousand times. She slammed the passenger door hard enough to rattle the window. Was she walking away? Rohan had quietly followed and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to wait. For the first time in her memory, she had to look up to hold his gaze as she cussed him out. Through teary vision, Ginny watched him flip her off as he drove away. They spent the next summer apart for the first time in their lives. 

​

By September, Rohan was done for good with Brooke Reynolds, and Ginny was done for good with competitive ballet. Much had happened in the last ten months: Rohan and Ginny were not the same as they were before. Yet, they couldn’t stay away. The night before senior year began, Rohan showed up at her back door, hands sheepishly stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t have time to get out a single word before Ginny flew down the porch steps and threw her arms around him. In years past, she might’ve rested her head on his shoulder. But he’d had a growth spurt in their few months apart. So she settled for pressing her ear against his heart as he buried his face in her hair.

​

The argument was forgotten. 

​

Rohan insisted on teaching Ginny how to drive in the old Ford F150, and Ginny insisted on helping prepare for college. So, they sat side-by-side—Rohan on the left and Ginny on the right—at Ginny’s dining room table one Saturday night filling out college applications. And when letters came in the mail, Ginny quietly threw out the acceptance to Arizona State, instead celebrating both their admissions to Vanderbilt, one of the best baseball schools in the country. 

​

For the first time since freshman year, Rohan and Ginny went together to homecoming. That night, Ginny danced for the first time since quitting ballet, even if the dancing was more like moshing with friends. At the afterparty, the two sat side-by-side and knee-to-knee. Rohan on the left and Ginny on the right. 

​

Christmas was spent together, and while the adults conversed in the living room, Ginny and Rohan hid out in the basement. They were in formal wear for the holiday, the first time since Rohan’s mother’s funeral the year before. To cope, they drank. Rohan taught Ginny everything he knew about drinking. Tipsy with liquid courage, Ginny took to the concrete dance floor with her head held high. Turning her back to the dust-covered barre, she took Rohan’s hand in hers and taught him the waltz she learned in a dance class years ago. She hummed out a melody: Tchaikovsky’s Pas de Deux from the ballet The Nutcracker. She led as she taught him where to place his feet and how to hold her arms. And then, once he had the hang of the steps and could lead in true, Ginny finally leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. 

​

It was a long time coming. It would be the first, but not the last. Not when they had Valentine's Day together, then prom and graduation and summer, and then four more years of school at Vanderbilt. They had a life built of little touches and glances that culminated in so much more. Ginny and Rohan; Rohan and Ginny. Rohan always on the left; and Ginny always on the right. 

​

She didn’t know at what point she had began loving him. Maybe it was as recently as dancing together in the Christmas tree light. Maybe it was in junior year in their shared vulnerability. Or maybe it grew and was nurtured in every episode watched of Grey’s Anatomy; every race on a bike; every time he turned off the AC and let her roll the windows of the Ford F150 down just so she could feel the wind in her hair, and just so he could see the joy she felt. Maybe she loved him more at every frigid or boiling baseball game she sat through, or maybe she loved him that first January day when he offered her his gloves on the playground. Or maybe there would be another moment, somewhere down the road, and Ginny would realize that what she feels now pales in comparison. Maybe the story of Rohan and Ginny had only just begun.