She was here. And I didn’t know how to fucking handle it.

It’d been weeks since we’d spoken—really spoken—and still, somehow, every part of me reacted the second she walked through the door like nothing had shattered between us.

Hair pinned back the way she always does when she’s trying not to care. That smile she gives when she’s trying too hard. And that dress? Christ, that dress nearly ruined me.

She didn’t see me at first. Or maybe she did and just… didn’t care to look twice. Fair enough. I wouldn’t look at me either, if I were her.

The music was too loud, the lights too dim, but none of it mattered. She was the only thing in focus. Every move she made, every time she tucked her hair behind her ear or laughed too softly for anyone else to hear—it was all just gut punches on a loop. I kept catching myself looking at the door like maybe she’d leave and take the pressure off my ribs. But she didn’t. She stayed. She stayed, and so did that ache in my chest.

I couldn’t stop watching her. Couldn’t stop remembering what it felt like when her hand was in mine, when she’d lean into me like I was the only place she felt safe. When I could read her just by the way she crossed her arms or bit her bottom lip. And now? I don’t even know if she’d want me to say hi.

She’s standing near the speakers, holding that stupid red cup like it might keep her grounded. Some guy’s talking to her—nothing flirty, but enough to make my jaw clench. She laughs at something he says, tilts her head back just a little. That laugh used to be mine.

I miss her. God, I miss her.

I know I fucked up. Said shit I didn’t mean. Let everything spiral until there was nothing left to fix. But the worst part is, I think we both regret it—we’re just too damn proud to admit it first. And maybe that’s what kills me the most. Knowing she’s probably hurting too, and still choosing silence over me.

But I can’t take it anymore. I can’t just stand here, invisible, while the one person who ever felt like home pretends I’m a stranger.

So I move. Through the crowd. Past the laughter and the stares and the second-guessing.

And when I’m close enough to smell the faint vanilla of her perfume, I tap her elbow—light, careful, like I’m asking permission to exist in her world again.

She turns. Looks at me. Eyes wide, surprised. Not angry. Not warm, either. Just… uncertain.

“Hey,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

She doesn’t smile. But she doesn’t look away either.

That’s something. God, I’ll take anything.