He always came over at night. Even when he did pop by in the daytime, I'd miss him.

Once he drove over to collect Kayle's luggage because that hateful boy had decided to pop overseas and didn't spare a thought for his family who maybe wanted to say goodbye before he left. It was only 1 hour before the ferry left, that we officially knew he headed straight for his holiday after a few hours of oh, I don't know, clubbing, maybe? It was funny, him being only 19 and driving. People that age didn't drive, they knew how to, sure, but they didn't actually get to drive a car around, from place to place. When Aaron was around that age, he parked his dad's car, once. I saw him do it-he was quite good, really, but it wasn't the same as Sean driving to my place, even fetching his little brother (not that little, really, just about my age?) around.

He was already here when I stepped out of the lift, and I didn't know which car was his. But he wasn't like the others-it happened with Josh once and I stood there for quite a while, completely lost and blinded by the sunlight bouncing off all those windows and screens, before he honked, and I had to follow the general direction of the sound to get to his car. Sean actually stepped out, even though I had spotted his car within a few seconds. It was easier to tell at night, because lesser cars would have their headlights and tail lights on. All confident, he walked over and I was praying he wouldn't notice I was really in my pyjamas, with a jacket thrown over and it was making me perspire.

I couldn't believe it when he asked the question. Here I was, all small and ugly in my just-before-sleep state, hoping to get it over with so I could quickly escape up and out of this too-warm jacket. And his question-more direct and more sincere than anyone else who had ever asked, was him asking, bothering! For a moment there I could truly believe he cared.

"Why did you cut your hair?"

It was much later, when the aftershock of the conversation had worn off, that I became very, very grateful that God had enabled my brain to think hyper-fast: we wouldn't want to keep Sean the Great waiting, would we?

I wanted to know how it felt, to be rejected. To go all the way, remove something significantly feminine, something I could have, in the past, banked confidence in. And to see how my society would react towards this girl, nearly bald. I thought that after all this, I would be stronger, able to take on anything.

One night he came over for sushi. Of course, he wasn't planning on eating, but mum had made a whole lot and we were having dinner so he was obliged to sit down with us. I can't think of anyone else who doesn't eat wasabi with their sushi. It's like a sort of food blasphemy. But he didn't, and we both expressed our supreme shock-not that he cared, of course.

He used the four-letter word. I can't remember what the two of them were talking about, but it came out of his mouth like it was part of his everyday language, which it probably was. I think I actually reacted to that, but I can't be sure. Maybe he remembered I was at the table, or maybe I cleared my throat to remind him. What I do remember was him apologising for using it, like I was a child, full of innocence (thinking that makes me laugh. Me, innocent?) and a fully legitimate reason for him to clorox his language, at least at this table. But underneath all that, I felt the sarcasm, a tinge of disbelief, that I was THAT squeaky-clean.

Now, that's the way to go.

Just this year he shocked me again. Talking to me, for me. And it's wonderful when he's not being the Great Sean, the one full of air and carrying the bastard-aura, he actually strings proper sentences together, thinks through before he replies...so his words actually make sense. Whole thoughts!

He asked how it was to be in Kayle's shadow. He asked how it was to be in Kayle's shadow. HE ASKED HOW IT WAS TO BE IN KAYLE'S SHADOW. No, wait. The emphasis should be: he asked ME how it was to be in Kayle's shadow.

And as I furiously typed my hard-thought replies...I realised that the few conversations we ever had, would be the conversations I would remember him by. Not what he did with all those girls, the clubs and pretty extreme frivolousness. Not what I found out, about his night with...no, not all that. Those were brain memories, the facts.

But my heart memory-that would be of someone great enough to bother to understand, and actually truly understand the little that I told him.

So I approach each potential opportunity for conversation with that deep mixture of fear, and insecurity...laced with hope.