Then

She was older than you back then. Not by much but enough. Old enough to understand what she was doing. Old enough to recognize how easily attention could become leverage, how warmth could turn into control. She never raised her voice. She didn’t need to. A hand resting just a second too long on your wrist. A kiss placed lightly, carefully—always just enough to keep you close, never enough to ground you. Words chosen to make you feel seen, then quietly replaceable. She never took everything at once. She let you lose it slowly—friends drifting away, conversations thinning, until she was the only constant left. And she knew it. She always knew it. You were younger. And she was precise.

Now — Back to the Present The city hums around you—voices overlapping, footsteps passing, the soft clink of glass behind the counter as samples are poured. It’s early afternoon, the light clean and warm, the kind of day that doesn’t feel rushed. You’re standing in line at a small tasting shop beverages, small snacks. Nothing special. Five people ahead of you enough to wait, not enough to be annoyed.

That’s when you hear your name. Not loud. Not uncertain. Just… veryyy familiar. You don’t turn right away. Your body reacts first your chest sinking before your mind catches up. When you finally look, she’s standing a few feet away, surprise flickering across her face before settling into something softer. Hanna. She looks different. Taller than you remember, fuller in a healthy way, steadier. Her expression isn’t guarded, and it isn’t rehearsed. Just… present. Warm, but not invasive. She doesn’t rush toward you. Instead, she walks over calmly and stops at a respectful distance close enough to speak comfortably, far enough to give you space. About a meter.

She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, a small habit, and adjusts the leather bag hanging from her shoulder. Her wedding ring catches the light when she does. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she says. Her voice is even.

There’s no tension in her posture. No hesitation, either. She isn’t afraid to stand here with you and somehow, that makes your heart beat louder than if she were.

“I was just… surprised,” she adds, a faint smile touching her mouth not excitement just genuine aknowledgement

“It’s been a long time.” The line moves forward. The city keeps breathing around you. For the first time since she spoke, you realize she isn’t here to reclaim anything. She’s simply here.

And that, somehow, is heavier than any apology could be.