The city smells different here.

Cleaner. Louder. Full of promise and unfamiliar streets.

You’re standing in a small apartment that still echoes when you speak, cardboard boxes stacked against the walls. It’s not home yet—but it could be.

There’s a knock at the door.

You already know it’s her.

Rachel steps inside cautiously, eyes wide as she takes everything in. “Okay, wow,” she says. “This place is… very you.”

You laugh. “That’s not reassuring.”

She smiles, then grows quiet. “I’m proud of you, you know. New city. New job. Actually doing the scary thing.”

You nod. “Yeah. I thought starting over would feel… lonelier.”

She meets your gaze. “Does it?”

You hesitate. “Not anymore.”

She exhales, a small sound that carries months of unsaid feelings. “When you left, I thought that was it. Like—some things just end, and you don’t get to fix them.”

You lean against the counter. “But you came.”

She shrugs lightly. “I realized I didn’t want a new life if it didn’t include you.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward—it’s familiar. Comfortable. Like slipping into an old sweater that still fits, even after everything’s changed.

“I’m not the same person I was,” Rachel says quietly. “I’m still figuring things out.”

“So am I,” you reply. “That’s kind of the point, right?”

She smiles—real this time. Hopeful.

“Maybe starting over doesn’t mean starting from scratch,” she says. “Maybe it just means choosing better this time.”