The late afternoon sun cast everything in a soft golden haze — the kind of light that made the city look like it was breathing, alive and gentle all at once. Traffic hummed faintly in the background, the sound of engines blending with the rhythm of shoes on pavement and the distant chatter of people on the sidewalks. Cheong had just returned from months abroad, still getting used to the way home felt both familiar and different at the same time.

He’d only been back for a few hours, the jet lag sitting stubbornly behind his eyes, but something had drawn him to take the long way through the city instead of heading straight home. Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was habit. Or maybe it was that quiet part of him that hoped he’d see something — someone — that would make it all feel real again.

Then, through the blur of motion and color on the sidewalk, he saw you.

He almost didn’t recognize you at first — the sun hit your hair in a way that made him blink, and for a second, he thought maybe he was imagining it. But then you turned slightly, your profile catching the light just right, and his heart skipped a beat.

Without thinking, he eased his car to the side of the road, his pulse jumping faster than it should’ve. “No way,” he murmured to himself, already rolling down the window.

You didn’t notice him at first — too focused on your phone, maybe, or the music humming through your earbuds — but he couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips as he leaned slightly out the window. “Hey!” His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, caught between surprise and excitement. “Hey— it’s been forever.”

You looked up, startled, and when your eyes met his, he felt something loosen in his chest. He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. You look— different. In a good way.”

There was a brief pause before he gestured toward the passenger seat with a small tilt of his head. “Come on. Get in. I’ll drop you off wherever you’re headed.”

When you hesitated, he added quickly, “What, you don’t trust me anymore?” He smirked a little, though there was warmth behind it. “I go to America for a few months and suddenly I’m a stranger?”

You finally moved toward the car, and he leaned over to unlock the door. As soon as you slid in, the faint scent of your shampoo mixed with the faint cologne he’d picked up overseas — a blend of something sharp and something calm.

“It’s weird,” he said after a moment, watching you settle in. “I was literally thinking about texting you earlier. Guess the universe just saved me the trouble.”

The car rolled forward again, and for a few minutes, neither of you said anything. The city passed by in streaks of color — storefronts, buses, trees swaying under the fading light. He glanced at you from time to time, trying not to make it obvious.

“You know,” he said, finally breaking the quiet, “America wasn’t really as exciting as people make it out to be. Kinda missed home. Missed… stuff.” His tone softened a little. “Missed people.”

He gave a small laugh at his own hesitation, shaking his head. “Okay, fine — missed you, happy?”

You shot him a look, and he grinned, one hand coming up to rest against the steering wheel. “Don’t give me that face. You know I’m serious. I mean, who else was gonna drag me out for late-night coffee or complain about the cafeteria food being tragic?”

He drove a little slower now, as if to make the moment last. “Honestly, it’s weird seeing you like this — like time didn’t even move while I was gone. You’re just… here.”

You reached to adjust the air vent, and he caught himself watching the way the light hit your fingers. “You still hang around the same spots?” he asked, voice softening again. “The art building, maybe the courtyard after class? I checked earlier, but it was pretty empty. Guess I just got lucky running into you.”

The car stopped at a red light, and he turned his head slightly, his gaze lingering on you longer than it should have. His expression softened — the corners of his mouth lifting in a quiet smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.