You're 23 before you see her again. Time stops the second you do, because you almost forgot about her unique eyes in the last 6 months. Your work to build your dreams has kept you so so busy that you almost forgot everything other than the name ringing in the forefront of your mind. Cat Co. Cat Co. Cat Co. You swear to yourself that you'll make it happen, and for the time in months of work, you feel like you actually might. You're well on your way to getting there, and you've never felt more proud of your efforts. Which is why when you're walking along Pilot street and nearly run into an energetic blonde beauty next to a cafe, you almost trip over your feet when startled, familiar blue eyes meet your hazel green ones.
It's her, you only realize that now. And she looks better, you gather as you look over her. Not amazing, not by a long shot, but your heart is tripping over itself at the sight of her, and that's something you've never felt before, it's not something you've ever let yourself feel before.
Her hair is faded now. It's no longer auburn red, it's a dark gold, messy remaining red softened by golds and blonds, shifting and changing down her back in a sleek thick mass. It's a messy blonde, much like your own, but a bit darker still. She's let her bangs grow out, and she looks infinitely older without them covering up her porcelain smooth skin, and her hair is slick and smooth, a mass falling just past her hips. She looks... beautiful, even in her light blue crop top that doesn't hide anything on a strong waist, and shorts that show off thigh and all, mile long legs, down to black cork wedge pumps, a stark contrast to her smooth tanned skin.
Bold blue eyes stare into yours, and even though she's still a child, looks just like one, her features have hardened into more set levels, and you can't resist a smile at this beauty. She has knowledge now, somewhat, and it's bold in her blue eyes, making them a little colder and darker with thought, anger, rules, but no less stunning. She's wild underneath, and you want to know her, you can't explain it, but you really do. You want to know all about her, and that's very unnerving to you, someone who's learned that the less attention you spend on others, the more effective you will be in your quest. But this one... there's constellations in those blue eyes, and being a journalist, you really want to stare long enough to connect the dots.
''Sorry.'' She whispers, and your lips part regardless of your own rules or temperament. You're a cold person. You can't build an empire by being kind and sweet and by being a wallflower. But this girl, she's making you break those rules, and you wonder why you're so easily letting it happen. Why you're not pushing her out of your way and moving on. You don't know, but your standing there watching her as she spins her face around and steps forward quickly to scoop up a toddler, and you realize he's the one again. Maybe it is hers, you think, and smile slightly, something you rarely do, because you're too above that kind of sweetness, even at your young age. She scoops him into her arms easily, turning back to you, a silly fire truck red messenger bag with cupcakes and flowers on it hanging off one of her shoulders, and smiles brightly, and you feel your heart take a double beat, because no smile should be that radiant.
''It was my fault, I bumped into you.'' You say curtly, and plan to step around her, but her eyes hold you, just as they did the first time at that bus stop, and you look down at the boy in her arms, and yes, his eyes stare as well, the same wild blue, the same inhumanly possible colour. You watch as she speaks to him, her voice sweet like honey but stern in her instruction, and you wonder again what language she is speaking, it's like nothing you've ever heard before, oddly lyrical.
"Zha, Kal El. Klarhk. Zha lor."
And then she looks to you, her voice softening as she exhales and gives you another kind smile, and finally speaks the first actual English sentence you hear from her.
"I'm sorry. He is... always running... the second I stop looking."
You would ask what language she spoke a moment ago at her son, is it her son?, but it seems too forward when you've only really met her now, and when you don't even know her yet. So instead you ask her name, and the way she looks at you, her head tilted in curiosity, well, your seeing angels again, and this time, with her wild gold hair glittering in the light breeze, those angels are singing, and it's a song you've never ever heard before. And when she whispers her name, it sounds like a song all on it's own, and you have to smile, because you'd never thought a name could sound so pretty. But then, you realize, her silken voice could make any name sound pretty. Even yours, a stark single syllable. She could do it, and suddenly you realize she could do anything, it really feels that way. You can't explain why that is, this sudden obsession you have, with this beautiful stranger.
"Kara. My name is Kara."