Your car broke down in the worst place—but maybe the best one, too. Right in front of Derek’s house, just as the rain started.

He opened the door before you could knock, already grinning.

—“Your timing’s impeccable.”

—“Come in. It’s too late and wet to deal with it tonight. We’ll call someone tomorrow.”

Inside, it felt like old times—pizza, beer, your shoes by the door and his sweatshirt over your shoulders. You were both curled up on the couch, laughing over something stupid on TV when he disappeared down the hall.

He came back holding a beat-up shoebox.

—“Found this last week, cleaning out the closet.”

He handed it to you.

Inside: your old letters, napkin doodles, badly drawn comics, and wedding plans—your wedding plans. As teenagers. It was childish and sweet and oddly… nostalgic.

—“You kept this?” you asked, softly.

—“Yeah,” he said, settling beside you. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think life made more sense back then.”

You glanced at him—he looked… tired. Not physically, but deep down.

He stared at the drawings for a moment.

—“Meredith doesn’t want to get married. Says she doesn’t believe in it. I’ve been trying to be okay with that, but… I’m not.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

—“I’m tired of second-guessing everything, of feeling like wanting something permanent is a flaw. With her, it’s always waiting for the next crisis.”

He picked up a folded paper—one you’d written when you were sixteen, listing songs you’d play at your wedding. You saw the small smile tug at his lips.

—“You always knew what you wanted,” he said, almost to himself. “Even back then.”

He looked up at you. Not dramatic. Just honest.

—“And sometimes, I think I was happiest when we were just kids, sitting on the floor with markers, dreaming about things like this.”