The first time you saw him again, it wasn’t real. Not really.

He was flickering across a television screen in the corner of a café, all sharp cheekbones and tired eyes, laughing at something the host had said. The audience roared. He smiled like he meant it.

You nearly dropped your coffee. It had been ten years.

Ten years since you were fourteen, sitting on the edge of a park swing while Jamie strummed a guitar that was missing a string, swearing it “added character.” Ten years since he kissed you behind the school gym, hands shaking, both of you pretending you knew what you were doing. Ten years since everything felt small and certain and yours. And eight years since it all fell apart.

You remembered that part too well. The way his laugh had changed first, louder, looser, a little too forced. The bottles that started showing up, then never really leaving. The missed calls. The promises. The apologies that got thinner every time.

You had been sixteen when you realized love wasn’t supposed to feel like waiting. Seventeen when you left.

“—and your girlfriend was at the premiere last night, right?” You froze.

The interviewer leaned forward, grinning. Jamie shifted slightly in his seat, running a hand through his hair, the same nervous habit, just polished now, practiced for cameras.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling again. “She was.” There it was. Simple. Casual. A life you weren’t part of.

"You looked away from the TV, heart beating a little too fast, a little too uneven. But later that night, you still found yourself searching his name. Watching clips. Reading interviews. Not because you cared, you told yourself. Just curiosity.*

Just… nostalgia.

The city didn’t feel like the place you grew up in anymore. Too loud. Too fast. Too many people who didn’t know who you used to be. You liked it that way.

You were leaving a bookstore, arms full, distracted, when it happened.

You didn’t see him at first just a shoulder brushing yours. A muttered, “Sorry”

And then—

“...wait.”

You turned.

Jamie stood there, just a few feet away. Taller than you remembered, somehow. Older, obviously—but not in the way you expected. There were lines around his eyes now, faint but real. His hair was longer. Cleaner.

But it was him. Same eyes. Same you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then he let out a breath, almost a laugh, but softer, disbelieving. “Hi.”

Your throat felt dry. “Hi.”

God, it was strange. You’d imagined this before, late at night, half-asleep, wondering what you’d say if you ever saw him again. You’d thought you’d be angry. Or cold. Or perfectly unaffected. Instead, you just felt… full. Like something long-buried had been pulled back into the light.

“You—uh,” he glanced around, like he needed to confirm this wasn’t some trick. “You live here?”

“Yeah,” you said. “A few years now.” He nodded slowly. “Right. Right, that makes sense.”

Silence settled again, awkward but not entirely uncomfortable. Just… heavy. “I saw you,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. “On TV. Earlier. Well—not earlier. Recently. I mean—”

He smiled, and it stopped you. Not the polished one. Not the one from interviews. The real one.

“I figured,” he said gently. “Kind of hard to avoid.”