She was twenty-four and getting her masters in literary analysis. She was twenty-four and should’ve been studying for the exam over Dickens on Tuesday. But instead, she was twenty-four and wearing a blue dress, blonde hair curled into loose ringlets that came down to her clavicle. She was twenty four and waiting in Terminal three of O’Hare Field. His plane would be landing any minute, and she was getting antsy.
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In a few minutes it would all be over. He was really done, and he’d be home with her. He gripped the straps of his rucksack tighter, ready for the plane’s descent.
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It had only been six months since she’d last seen him, but still. Six months was a long time, and this time, he was home for good. He was done. He had promised.
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He stepped out into the busy terminal and looked around. There were families going to and from vacations, experienced businessmen with their conservative carry-ons, all of them flustered and busy, yet all of them able to stop and stare at the soldier stepping off of a flight, head-to-toe in fatigues that were neatly tucked into standard issue combat boots. Immediately, he felt the emptiness they’d said he’d feel. Sure, these people could appreciate what he’d done for them, but they’d never understand. Where was she?
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Where was he? Wouldn’t he be easy to pick out of a crowd? Wouldn’t people be staring?
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An elderly man approached him and took his hand, thanking him for his sacrifices. A little boy with a head full of dark, rich curls hugged his knee tightly as a teary eyed mother explained that the boy’s father was taking another tour with the marines. He knelt down to the boy and ran a rough hand through those curls, speaking over the catch in his throat. He assured the child that his daddy was thinking of him at that very moment and couldn’t wait to see him again. As he left the boy and mother, he felt the eyes on him: all the eyes in the terminal but hers. Surely she had come…she had promised.
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Then she saw him. He’d gotten a little taller, his skin deeply tanned and wind burnt. He was looking for her, she could tell. He was getting worried; his shoulders tense and eyes wandering. How didn’t he see her?
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Then he saw her. Her hair had gotten long, down to the small of her back and chestnut brown. She was dressed like she had come from work, her pink blouse showing from underneath a dark pea coat, and she seemed to be looking for him.
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She watched his shoulders relax and his face light up. He walked briskly, pushing through the crowd, but not towards her. She watched him envelope a petite brunette in his arms and kiss her cheek. The brunette gasped and threw her arms around his neck. He picked her up and they twirled in a circle. People turned and began applauding for the reunited couple.

Confused, her face fell. Wasn’t that supposed to be her? Painfully embarrassed, she dropped the sign she had made and quickly left the terminal, tears threatening at the surface.
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As he walked out with his girl on his arm, a piece of paper caught his eye. Picking it up, he read his name and rank. Bemused, he turned it over and read I’ve missed you. He looked up just in time to catch the flash of blonde hair rounding the corner, a tear stained blue dress following after.
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She was twenty four and getting her masters in literary analysis. She was twenty four and she was studying for the exam over Dickens on Tuesday. She was twenty four and had waited six months to realize she didn’t need him or any other man. She was twenty four and had her own story to tell. She was twenty four and she wasn’t looking back.