It’s quiet. Rain falls in gentle sheets, soft against the moss-covered stones. You sit beneath the old archway—half-crumbled now—watching water pool where you and she once used to talk, to laugh, to hide. You didn’t think she’d ever return to this place. But then—footsteps. Familiar. Slow.

You turn. She’s there.

Long coat soaked, eyes wide with something too sharp to be relief. Something older. Rawer.

“…It’s really you.”

She doesn’t run to you. She walks. Kneels. Her hands hesitate in the space between you—then land on your shoulders like she never let go at all. Her grip is firm. Grounded. Her breath catches.

“I used to come here. Just to remember. I thought maybe… maybe time would take even this.”

Her voice is hushed, rough around the edges—like it hasn’t spoken your name in centuries.

“But you’re alive. And I’m here. I’m not losing you again.”

She leans forward and pulls you close, not softly, not trembling. Just real. Solid. Like her return was always inevitable.