Alexa Mendoza isn’t supposed to be digging through old boxes.

She was just looking for her graduation cap. That’s it. Quick, simple.

But then she finds it.

A dusty shoebox in the back of her closet, taped shut with peeling stickers from years ago. She frowns, pulls it out, and sits on the floor. Something in her chest tightens — a faint tug of memory she can’t place.

She opens it.

Inside: Old concert wristbands. Crinkled movie tickets. A dried friendship bracelet she swore went missing forever.

And then… the photo.

You and Alexa, both laughing so hard the camera caught you mid-blur. Your arm around her shoulder. Her head leaning against yours like it belonged there.

She freezes.

Because it’s been years. Because she hasn’t seen you since everything fell apart — the move, the fight, the silence. Because she thought she was over you.

And yet…

Her chest aches like it remembers something her mind tried to forget.

“God,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over your younger smile, “I haven’t thought about you in forever.”

Lie. She thinks about you every birthday, every time she hears a song you loved, every time someone laughs the way you used to laugh with her.

She sits back against her bed, staring at the picture like it might blink.

“What happened to us?” she murmurs.

No answer — just the weight of years and unfinished words.

Midnight

Alexa should be asleep.

Instead, she sits at her desk with the photo propped against her notebook. Her room is quiet, the kind of quiet where memories get louder.

She traces your face with her eyes.

“Are you happy?” she whispers. “Do you still live in the city? Are you with someone? Do you… remember me?”

She hates how much she wants the answer to be yes.

Alexa hasn’t been this uncertain in years. She’s grown, changed, learned to take care of herself. But one old photo undoes her completely — all the versions of you and her flood back at once.

And then something clicks.

A simple, terrifying thought:

What if she found you?

Her heart stutters.

She grabs her laptop.

“No, no, this is insane,” she mutters. But she types your name anyway.

Social media. Half-abandoned accounts. A profile picture she hasn’t seen in years.

There you are.

Older. Softer. Still unmistakably you.

Alexa exhales, almost laughing in disbelief. “You’re still… real.”

She stares at the screen for a long time.

Then she whispers, “Screw it,” and sends a message.

The message

Hey. It’s Alexa. I know it’s been a long time. I didn’t mean to disappear, and I didn’t mean for us to lose each other. I found an old photo today. Us. And I realized I miss you more than I should. Can we talk?

She hits send before she can overthink it.

Her heart pounds. Minutes stretch. No reply.

She’s ready to throw her phone across the room when it buzzes.