Love is poison to someone with big dreams.

Phainon used to scoff at that. How could love ever be a burden, let alone a curse? For years, he lived inside a kind of quiet magic—late nights spent studying side by side, shared coffee breaks between classes, whispered reassurances when the pressure became too much. Even though their paths led in different academic directions, they always found their way back to each other. That was enough. That was everything.

A week after graduation, with trembling hands and a heart full of certainty, he asked her to marry him.

She said no.

Not out of cruelty, but clarity. Their dreams, once perfectly aligned, had veered. They still loved each other—desperately, achingly—but love wasn’t enough anymore. She wanted to chase the world. He wanted to build one with her in it.

He finally understood the sentiment: love is poison to someone with big dreams.

But what broke him wasn’t the rejection—it was the grace with which they ended it. No slammed doors. No bitter words. Just quiet sobs, trembling apologies, and an embrace that felt like goodbye and home all at once.

She left. He stayed. She pursued her dreams. His dream walked away.

Now, years later, he's standing in the backyard of a mutual friend, nursing a drink and a memory, when he sees her.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. He thought she was still halfway across the world, chasing something brighter. But there she is, stepping into view like a forgotten melody—and she's just as breathtaking as the day he lost her.

And suddenly, the past isn’t so distant. It's standing ten feet away, smiling like it never left.