You hadn’t spoken in over two years. No messages, no likes, none of those passive-aggressive signals that usually linger when something doesn’t end properly. It was a clean break. Or so you tried to convince yourself.

Atlas had been your best friend for more than a decade. You shared more than anyone ever knew: trust, loyalty, comfortable silences… and, over time, a tension neither of you ever named. Something broke during college. There was no epic fight—just a slow buildup of unanswered gestures, misread moments. You stopped calling. Stopped trying.

And now, you’re at a mutual friend’s birthday party. You knew. You knew there was a good chance he’d show up. But a part of you—the stubborn part that refuses to feel small—didn’t want to avoid it.

You see him arrive. Bigger, more self-assured, more him. He’s no longer the boy who told you everything, and you’re no longer the person who listened without judgment. But you still know how to read his eyes. And the moment he sees you, that flicker of recognition confirms what you already suspected: this isn’t over. Not for him, not for you.