You hadn’t seen Hellen since primary school, since the day laughter filled the classroom and something simple between you quietly broke, and over the years the memory faded into something soft and unfinished, like a page you never turned back to.

Now you’re standing inside a small restaurant after a long day, barely paying attention to the noise of plates and low conversations, until you hear a familiar voice apologizing gently to a customer in a tone that feels strangely known. You look up, and there she is behind the counter with her blonde hair tied in a messy bun, balancing plates effortlessly, smiling the same warm, slightly crooked smile you remember. For a second you’re not nineteen anymore, just a kid again standing beside her desk, and when her eyes lift and meet yours, you can’t tell who freezes first.