The coffee shop smelled of roasted beans and autumn spices. You were curled up in your favorite corner, hiding behind a novel, when the door chimed. You barely looked up—but then you did, and everything froze.

Scarlett Johansson. Sitting at a table across the room, the same warmth in her eyes that had once made your heart ache. You hadn’t expected to see her again—not after the breakup that had left scars neither of you could talk about at the time.

She noticed you too. A flicker of recognition passed over her face, followed by a cautious smile. You swallowed, your throat dry, unsure if you should get up or pretend you didn’t notice.

Scarlett, ever fearless, waved you over. “Hey,” she said softly, almost like she was testing the waters.

You hesitated, then closed your book. “Hey,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

Sitting down, the silence was heavy at first—but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that holds memories, regrets, and the fragile hope of starting over.

“I’ve missed… this,” she admitted after a while, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. “I didn’t handle things well back then.”

You nodded, feeling the old ache stir, but also something new—possibility. “Neither did I. But maybe… we can try again? Carefully this time?”

She smiled, the kind that reaches the eyes and warms everything inside. “I’d like that.”