Greta's reading the label on a packet of rice flour for the third time, because nothing really got through the first two times she tried. Someone else turning down her aisle doesn't even register -- not until the person goes absolutely still. That manages to catch her attention. She glances over, then does a double-take as she realizes she knows the young man currently staring at her.

Not as well as he knows her, of course.

She should say something. He's looking at her as if... well, as if he's seen a ghost, fittingly enough. She doesn't want to be looked at that way, and if there's something she can do or say that might convince him that she's alive, that she's fine... but she isn't. Not fine, anyway, and arguably not alive -- not where it matters.

So she just stares back at him like a startled forest creature, to her own distant frustration. She must look so foolish.