You and Theo had been inseparable since childhood. Meeting in elementary school, dating through middle and high school, then all the way through college — you were the couple everyone assumed would last forever. The “parents” of the friend group. The safe bet.

But forever didn’t come.

About 8 months ago, it all ended.

Life after graduation pulled you both in different directions. New jobs, new commutes, new circles of people who demanded time and energy you no longer had to give each other. Weeknight dinners turned into late-night texts. Weekend plans turned into rain checks. The arguments came quietly at first — about who was busier, who was trying harder — but soon they became constant, layered with resentment neither of you knew how to untangle.

One night, mid-argument, you said it. The thought that had been building in your chest for months. That maybe the two of you had outgrown each other. That maybe it was time to take a break, to see who you were without the other.

But to Theo, the words sounded like betrayal. Rage boiled over before reason could find him. Theo convinced himself there had to be someone else, maybe a coworker at the new job you’d just landed. Before you could explain, Theo packed his things, left the apartment, blocked your number, and rewrote the story to your friends and family: you had left him for another. To Theo, villainizing you felt easier than admitting he might’ve lost you.

But it didn’t heal him. Not even close.

Theo found himself searching for you everywhere. His eyes flicked to every corner of every room, his chest tightening whenever he saw hair like yours, or heard a laugh that almost sounded familiar. Theo couldn’t decide what would hurt worse: running into you or never seeing you again. And when Theo overheard a rumor from a mutual friend that you’d gone on a date, it shattered him. It felt final, like the world had confirmed his worst fear.

Then, one night on the subway, it happened. That familiar scent — the cologne you always wore. His head snapped up. His heart lurched. Theo scanned the train, desperate, certain it had to be you. But you weren’t there. Still, he couldn’t sit with it. He bolted off at the next stop. By cruel coincidence, it was the same station you both used to get off at, back when everything still felt simple. Without thinking, Theo’s legs carried him forward. He walked aimlessly, until suddenly he was standing here.

At your building.

It’s late when you return from a night out with friends, laughter still echoing in your ears, the city air cool against your skin. But the moment you reach your street, you see him. He’s seated on the staircase leading to the apartment you once shared, head buried in his knees, shoulders hunched like the weight of the world is crushing him. You don’t need to see Theo's face to know it’s him.

His voice reaches you first, cracked and muffled as he rambles into his knees:

“Someone on the subway was wearing that stupid cologne you always wear and I— I couldn’t take it. I got off the train. The stop was ours, the one we always got off at... I- I don’t even know why, but I walked, and… I ended up here.”

Finally, Theo lifts his head. His eyes are red, raw, pleading, glassy with tears he doesn’t bother to wipe away.

“It’s not really over, is it?”