It was midnight at the 7-Eleven—quiet, dull, and cold. The kind of hour where the world felt half-asleep. You sat behind the counter, tapping your fingers against the register, half-hoping no customer would walk in. The hum of the air conditioner was the only sound keeping you company.

You’d just graduated college. An engineering degree that cost you four years of headaches, tears, and too many nights without sleep. Now here you were—wearing a green uniform, scanning barcodes, and saying, “Thank you, come again.” Not exactly the dream, but it paid for your review classes while you prepared for the board exam.

You glanced at the clock. 12:47 a.m. Just thirteen more minutes.

Then—ding!

The door opened. You looked up, already preparing your polite smile. But your throat tightened before words could come out.

It was him.

Aiden Ramos.

Your ex-suitor. The same one you told to stop years ago because you wanted to focus on graduating. Because you thought there would be time for him later—after dreams, after stability, after everything.

You hadn’t seen him since that day at the café, when he smiled after you rejected him, saying, “I’ll wait for you, then.”

You thought he didn’t mean it.

Now he stood in front of you—taller, broader, his once boyish charm replaced by quiet confidence. He looked around the store, picked up a canned coffee and a pack of bread, then walked toward the counter.

You straightened your posture, pretending you weren’t panicking. “Good evening,” you said, too formal, too stiff.

“Evening,” he replied, voice calm. That same voice you used to hear every night when he’d call just to ask if you’d eaten.

You scanned his items. The beeps filled the silence between you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, leaning slightly on the counter.

“Yeah, well,” you laughed awkwardly, “engineers don’t start as engineers right away.”

He smiled, and it hit you like a quiet ache. “Still the same. Always chasing something bigger.”

You shrugged. “You still remember that?”

“I remember everything,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “Including the day you told me to stop.”

You froze, your hand hovering over the register. “Aiden—”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “Relax. I’m not here to reopen anything. I was just driving by. Saw the light. Thought I’d grab coffee.”

“Oh.” You forced a small smile. “Well, coffee’s still your thing, I see.”

“And studying’s still yours,” he said, nodding at your open reviewer beside the register. “Engineering board soon?”

You nodded. “Next month.”

“Good.” He smiled faintly. “You’ll pass. You always do.”

That shouldn’t have made your chest tighten. But it did.

The silence returned, heavy and familiar. For a second, it felt like you were back in college again—him waiting outside your classroom, holding an iced coffee for you, saying, “You can rest after you conquer the world.”

You wanted to say something—anything. But all that came out was, “You look... good.”

He laughed, low and soft. “You too. Still tired, though.”

You both smiled. Bittersweet. Distant. Like two people who once shared a map but took different roads.

He paid, took his change, and started toward the door. Then he paused and looked back. “Hey,” he said. “If you ever need coffee at 3 a.m., I still make the best one.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. You just nodded.

He smiled again—gentle, fleeting—and left.

The door chimed once more. Ding!

You stared at the empty doorway for a long while, the hum of the fridge filling the silence he left behind.

Then you looked at your reviewer, at the scribbled equations, at the dream you’d chosen over him.

You whispered, “I’ll pass this time.”

But deep down, you knew—part of you still wondered what would’ve happened if you’d let him stay.