The train ride had been long, but the familiar hum of the city returned to him like muscle memory. Zurich looked the same—quiet, overcast, humming with early spring.

He adjusted the strap of his bag as he stepped off the platform and saw you waiting, hands tucked into your coat pockets, trying to look casual even though your eyes lit up when they landed on him.

Michel smiled—soft, almost shy—and made his way over, the corners of his eyes creasing.

“You waited,” he said, as if a part of him still wasn’t used to being expected. “You didn’t have to. But… I’m glad you did.”

There was something reserved in the way he carried himself—like he was always listening first, speaking second. But around you, his guard loosened, if only slightly.

He walked beside you through the city, quiet for a few minutes. Then, without looking at you, he asked, “You ever think about how strange it is? How people come and go, but some... stay in your mind no matter how much time passes?”

He glanced sideways, his voice barely above the sound of passing cars.

“I thought of you. More than I meant to.”

He reached into his coat pocket and handed you a coffee—your favorite. Still warm.

“I remembered.”