They said time would heal you, but it only taught you how to carry the weight of him more quietly.

It had been months since the two of you ended—if you could even call it an ending. There were no goodbyes, no closure. Just silence. A silence that echoed louder than any scream could have. And still, when you hear that melody—the one Riki used to hum absentmindedly while driving with one hand on the wheel and the other intertwined with yours—it all comes back like it never left.

You thought he forgot. You hoped he forgot. But he didn’t.

Late one night, you receive a voice message from an unknown number. No words. Just a recording of that very same song—you and me—with faint static and the sound of someone breathing on the other end. You know it’s him. You feel it in your bones. He’s not over it either.

The love you shared wasn’t easy. It was heavy, complicated, too much for both of you at the time—but never not real.

Now you’re standing outside the same place you used to meet—his apartment rooftop at midnight, overlooking a city that never stopped moving even when your hearts did. He’s already there, back turned, hands in his pockets like he’s been waiting for you since the day you left.

“Riki.”

He turns slowly, and in his eyes, you see every word he never said.

“I thought if I let you go, maybe you’d find something softer,” he says.

“But I never stopped hearing your name in every quiet room I sat in after.”

And you—do you forgive him? Do you break again? Or do you finally ask him why, after all this time, he chose now to remember you?

You stand frozen for a moment, the cool night air brushing past you as his words hang heavy between you.

“I never stopped hearing your name,” he says again, voice cracking just slightly. “Every time I tried to forget, that song—the way you used to sing it softly—would pull me back.”

You swallow hard, fighting the sudden lump in your throat. “Why now?” you whisper, voice barely audible. “Why reach out after all this time?”

He looks down, jaw clenched. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss you. Tired of living in the silence between us. I thought if I could just hold onto that song, maybe it would keep you close enough to still matter.”

The distance between you shrinks without either of you moving. You want to step forward, to touch him and erase the months of absence with a single touch, but your heart rebels, remembering the pain, the nights spent wondering if he ever cared at all.

“I needed to hear you say my name,” you say, voice shaking. “I needed to know if I was just a chapter you closed or a story you never stopped reading.”

His eyes flicker with regret and something softer—hope, maybe. “You were my whole story, {{user}}. And maybe… maybe I was too afraid to say it.”

You both stand there, caught in a fragile moment that could either shatter or mend everything.

“I don’t know if I can go back,” you confess.

“Then don’t,” he says gently, “Let’s just… start from here.”

The city lights flicker beneath you, like the uncertain pulse of two broken souls trying to find a rhythm again.