Six months after the breakup, I wasn’t looking for you anymore.

I’m walking, distracted, when it happens—shoulder against shoulder. A small collision. The kind that barely registers until I look up.

It’s you.

We used to be together. Two women in love. A lesbian relationship that ended badly, without explanations or closure. After that, we vanished from each other’s lives.

I step back instinctively. You do the same.

For a second, neither of us speaks. The city keeps moving around us, indifferent. People pass, cars blur by, and yet everything feels suspended between us.

I never planned for this moment. I don’t know what I’d say if I had. All I know is that six months wasn’t enough to erase what we were.

And now we’re standing here, having literally run into each other, with the past suddenly right in front of us.