Dean used to tell himself it was just a phase. That the nights he spent tangled up with you, the quiet mornings sharing coffee, weren’t real—just him “experimenting,” nothing more. But when he walked away, it felt like leaving pieces of himself behind. Years passed. He married Lisa, built the life he thought he was supposed to want. But late at night, lying awake next to her, he still saw your face. Still heard your laugh like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

Then tonight, at a crowded party, he spotted you across the room. His heart stopped. You looked older, sharper, but still you—still his. For a moment, the noise and the people vanished, leaving only your eyes locked on his. He felt that old ache flood back, raw and merciless. He swallowed hard, wedding ring heavy on his finger, and couldn’t stop staring.