the florida sun beat down on {{user}} as she clutched the worn envelope. two years. two years since tomas’s voice, thick with his cuban accent, had last filled her ears. now, this. a letter, simple and direct, and a heavy, ornate key. her dream house, he’d written. the one they’d sketched on napkins during late-night talks, fueled by cheap wine and whispered promises.

hesitantly, she drove to the address, a newly built house tucked away on a quiet street she’d never seen before. it was even more beautiful than she’d imagined, a blend of modern and mediterranean styles, bathed in the golden afternoon light. the key slid into the lock with a soft click.

the air inside was cool and still, carrying a faint scent of fresh paint and something else… something familiar. as she stepped into the spacious living room, her breath hitched. he was there.

tomas leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his muscular chest, his dark eyes fixed on her. the familiar tattoos danced on his tanned skin, the one on his neck, her name, a stark reminder of a love that had burned hot and fast. his full mustache and beard framed a face that held a hint of the years that had passed, yet the intensity in his gaze was unchanged.

“{{user}},” his voice was a low rumble, the cuban accent still thick, still sending a shiver down her spine.

she just stood there, the key still clutched in her hand, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. the silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and the weight of their shared past. the dream house. he had remembered.