You probably won’t see this, but I can’t stop thinking about that night.
It was late, almost midnight, when I pulled into that nearly empty gas station off the highway. I was driving back from a weekend trip, exhausted, music playing low, just wanting to get home.
You were at the next pump, standing there in an old hoodie and jeans, hair pulled back like you hadn’t planned to run into anyone. I remember because when I glanced over, you caught me looking — and you smiled. Not a polite, quick smile, but one of those slow, genuine ones that actually makes your eyes light up.
I don’t know what made me do it, but I smiled back. And suddenly it didn’t feel like a random gas station anymore.
While we were both pumping gas, we kept sneaking little glances at each other. It was ridiculous — two strangers standing ten feet apart, pretending we weren’t curious. I wanted to say something, anything, but my brain froze.
You finished first, and instead of just leaving, you leaned against your car for a second like you were waiting. I swear it felt like the universe was giving me a chance. All I had to do was open my mouth.
But I didn’t.
You got in your car, gave me one last look — I swear there was something in that look, like a silent “come on” — and then you drove off into the night.
I stood there for a minute after you left, gas nozzle still in my hand, feeling like I’d just let something slip through my fingers. It’s crazy, right? One smile, a couple glances, and here I am, weeks later, still wondering what would’ve happened if I’d said hi.
People think missed opportunities are about big choices — jobs, cities, relationships that actually existed — but sometimes it’s just a stranger at a gas station who makes you feel something you weren’t expecting.
If by some chance you’re out there reading this, thanks for that smile. You made a random Sunday night feel like a movie scene. And if the universe is listening, I wouldn’t mind a do-over — this time I promise I’d walk over and say something.
