The rain outside painted the windows in streaks of silver, the city below buzzing like static beneath a blanket of night. Inside the rooftop restaurant, elegance hung in the air—dark wood floors, soft jazz humming beneath the sound of quiet conversations, and the subtle clink of glasses carried by well-dressed servers. The table near the far corner was already occupied, one man seated alone in an impeccably tailored suit, posture precise, his gaze steady as he overlooked the skyline. A single untouched glass of wine sat before him.

You stepped through the doors, led by the hostess, the warmth of the restaurant instantly washing over you. The lighting caught the side of his face first—sharp, familiar, impossible. You knew him. That jaw, that stillness. The last time you saw it, it had been bare skin and dim city light, not custom tailoring and corporate polish. He looked up as you approached. There was no shock. No words. Just the silent recognition between two people who never expected to see each other again—especially like this.