Smoke.

We were walking towards the entrance of the shopping centre when I saw her standing there, right in our path.

Her hair was what I first noticed about her. Half of it had been chopped off, the other half kept long and dyed bright, bubble-gum pink. The shorter side was dark and streaked with green.

A cigarette dangled from her lips casually, looking very at home there. I wondered how many cigarettes she'd smoked alone; without me.

She wore dominatrix boots and a tight leather jacket. Her denim skirt was purposely torn and tattered.

She was gorgeous. I had always thought so. She was beautiful in that cold, hard way from afar, but once you got to know her...

I turned away, trying to focus on what Sam was saying to me. He was talking about his father's shop, again. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, as discreetly as I knew how.

She was the most rebellious dresser in school, beating everyone hands down with her ripped clothes, ever-changing hairstyle and, of course, her collection of shoes.

She always loved shoes. We used to get the same kind in different colours and paint on them.

She's always alone now. I have Sam and my other classmates, but she has no one.

We used to be friends, a long time ago, but Sam doesn't know that.

As we walk past her, I breath in her scent. I look at her face, the , but she never meets my eyes. She stares stonily ahead - as she has for the past five years whenever I am around - and exhales a trail of thin, menthol-infused smoke.

We grew up like sisters, going everywhere and exploring everything together. All through puberty. We were there for each other during our first periods, first bras, first thongs.

It was an especially hot day in June when it started. We were at the shopping centre. It was crowded that day, with everyone clamouring for a bit of the air-con instead of the sweltering heat outside. We had to squeeze in the lift and, well, things just sparked...

Maybe it was the weather or maybe it was the raging hormones, but the Lift Episode started our stolen moments in our bedrooms, public toilets, changing rooms...I was pretty detatched from the whole affair, at least emotionally.

Then she gave me a pair of shoes.

It was nothing special, just plain white Converse sneakers that she scrawled my name on. And a small heart. It was tiny, really, just a miniscule heart to show that this pair of sneakers was Special.

I couldn't help myself after that, it was a downward spiral. I fell totally and irreversibly in love with her, and each kiss from then on was something for me.

She was like a drug I couldn't get enough on. When we were together, I had no inhibitions. I felt so free, like nothing could stop us as long as we're together. It was young love, and I knew it.

She never felt the same way - not yet. I would give her a hug, she would recoil and go out for a cigarette. I would peck her on the cheek happily and she would shuffle away. I would try holding her hand and she would always, always, shrug me off.

I became frustrated with our secret relationship. I grew tired of being with her because she didn't seem to care if I was there or not. So I figured it didn't matter if I left and never looked back.

I thought I deserved happiness with someone who explicitly cherished me. Someone who didn't just see me as a fuck buddy, because that's what it felt like with her.

Sometimes I'd kiss her slowly, wanting to savour the moment. I imagined it was love that I felt coming from her. I imagined that we would grow old together and have twelve dogs in our house. I wished for it to be true, but it takes two to tango, as they say, and my partner was hardly there at all.

To cut out the drama and intense inner turmoil, I left her.

It was a plain old Thursday. We were in her bedroom. She was leaning out of the window, smoking. I was crying. I told her that she was an emotionless bitch. The cigarette burned an angry amber, but she was silent. I screamed at her to answer me. Only smoke replied.

So at the end of it all, I just packed up and left, believing it was for the better. But not before taking off my shoes - the shoes she gave me - and leaving it by her bedroom door.

I went home barefoot and nursing a broken heart.

I don't know how we got to this day, everything after that was just a blur to me. It's diminished into stolen glances that I knew she saw.

And in my glances I asked a thousand questions.

But only the smoke answered me.