I had moved out to the city only a month before and didn’t know any one there, except for the people I shared my house with. It was still very early when I made my way through the stream of commuters that needed to get to work. I usually do this with my mouth curled in an unpleasant direction and with my head down, to avoid any contact with the people around me so that I won’t get frustrated and kill them. My eyes were on the pavement when I heard my name. It took me a second to recognize it. I had been carrying it around my entire life but somehow it sounded very foreign to me at that moment, like it did not belong to me and the word was directed at someone else, at another girl on the street, a stranger with a life more exciting than my own, a girl with a pretty face and a briliant mind. But it was my name and someone was waiting for me to do something with it. So I looked up and recognized my roommate. I don’t know why, but I reached out for him and our hands met like in the movies and for a second there I felt connected like they do in the movies. Really connected. Like the entire week had come down to this point, on a friday morning in October, on a rainy street in a city filled with strangers, and everything made sense again.