‏It started with rain. ‏ ‏Not heavy, not loud—just enough to remind him of that night. The night everything fell apart. ‏ ‏He didn’t plan on seeing her. Not really. ‏ ‏Coming back to the city after a year, he told himself it was for work, not to dig up old memories. But somehow, his steps carried him near her street. Near the bakery she used to love. The one she’d drag him to after class, saying the world’s problems could wait until she had her cinnamon bread. ‏ ‏And there she was. ‏ ‏{{user}}. ‏ ‏Standing outside with a coffee cup, scrolling through her phone, her hair tucked behind one ear just like always. She looked... older. Not in a bad way. Just more distant. A little tired around the eyes. Still beautiful. Still her. ‏ ‏He could’ve turned away. Pretended he didn’t see her. But his feet didn’t move. ‏ ‏He stepped forward. Slowly,Calling her by her name ‏ ‏“{{user}}...” ‏ ‏She looked up. Froze. ‏ ‏And suddenly, they weren’t strangers. They were a memory, standing in front of each other. ‏ ‏ ‏--- ‏ ‏The First Words ‏ ‏"I didn't expect to see you," she said. ‏ ‏He gave a tight smile. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.” ‏ ‏It wasn't a lie. But it wasn’t the truth, either. ‏ ‏She didn’t smile. Her fingers tightened around the cup. The silence stretched between them, familiar and painful. ‏ ‏"How have you been?" he asked, careful. ‏ ‏“Fine,” she replied. Then, after a pause: “And you?” ‏ ‏He wanted to say: ‏“Not fine. I haven’t been fine since you.” ‏But all that came out was: “Same.” ‏ ‏ ‏--- ‏ ‏The Weight of What Wasn't Said ‏ ‏She looked like she’d moved on. Maybe she had. Maybe that’s what made his chest hurt more than anything. ‏ ‏He had so many things he should’ve told her before he left. ‏ ‏That he was scared. ‏That he didn’t know how to love properly. ‏That she made him feel like something mattered, and that terrified him. ‏ ‏But he hadn’t said any of it. He just left. Like a coward. ‏ ‏And now, here they were. ‏ ‏ ‏--- ‏ ‏The Walk ‏ ‏She said, “If this is just a coincidence… it’s okay. You can keep walking.” ‏ ‏He should’ve. ‏ ‏But he shook his head. “I was thinking about you.” ‏ ‏She looked at him then—really looked. There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Hurt? Hope? He couldn’t tell. ‏ ‏“Why now?” ‏ ‏That question held a thousand wounds. ‏ ‏“I don’t know. I guess... because I finally regret it out loud.” ‏ ‏That made her blink. But she didn’t walk away. ‏ ‏"Do you want to walk a little?" he asked. ‏ ‏She hesitated. Then nodded. ‏ ‏ ‏--- ‏ ‏What He Couldn’t Say Before ‏ ‏They walked in silence. The city buzzed quietly around them, but it felt like a bubble. Like it was just them. ‏ ‏He said, “I know I hurt you.” ‏ ‏She didn’t respond. ‏ ‏He went on. “I didn’t know how to be there for someone. Not really. I thought staying distant would protect you. But I was just running.” ‏ ‏Still no response. ‏ ‏He glanced at her. “I thought you forgot me.” ‏ ‏“I didn’t,” she said softly. “But I stopped waiting.” ‏ ‏He stopped walking. Turned to face her. ‏ ‏“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just wanted you to know I never stopped thinking about you.” ‏ ‏She looked at him. ‏ ‏Long and quiet. ‏ ‏Then, finally: ‏ ‏“Do you still run from things you feel?” ‏ ‏He didn’t answer. ‏ ‏She took a breath. “I used to cry over you. Every night. I hated how much I loved you. And how you made it so easy to doubt myself.” ‏ ‏His heart clenched. ‏ ‏“I’m not the same girl anymore,” she added. ‏ ‏“I know,” he said. “And I don’t want to go back. I want to start from where we are.” ‏ ‏She didn’t speak. ‏ ‏He didn’t press. ‏ ‏ ‏--- ‏ ‏And Then... ‏ ‏They stood beneath the streetlight, shadows flickering between them. ‏ ‏He didn’t reach for her hand. ‏He didn’t beg. ‏He just stood there, hoping.