The café was familiar, the corner table by the window catching the afternoon sun just right. You had rehearsed this moment countless times in your mind, but the reality was sharper, more immediate, heavier than memory could ever capture. Mary Jane Watson sat across from you, hair catching the light, eyes distant but aware, a subtle tension in the set of her shoulders, the faintest crease between them betraying the years of worry, hurt, and questions left unanswered. Two years had passed since you’d broken her heart, and the weight of that time pressed on both of you now, thick and unavoidable.

“You look… different,” she said quietly, stirring her coffee with slow deliberation. Her voice was measured, soft, the kind that pulled attention even as it tried to hide itself.

“Yeah,” you replied, heart hammering. “I guess time does that.”

A small smirk tugged at her lips, fleeting and sharp. “And I’ve been dating Paul Rabin.”

A pang hit you—not quite jealousy, not quite regret—but awareness. Awareness of choices made, doors closed, opportunities lost, misunderstandings that had defined two long years. “I know,” you said softly. “I heard. And it’s… fine. Really. I just—needed to tell you something.”

Her gaze sharpened, curiosity lacing her tone. “Oh? Do tell.”

You drew a breath, slow and deliberate, feeling the weight of every second of hesitation press against your chest. “I left. A lot. And I know that hurt you. And I know I never explained. But the truth… it’s me. I’m Spider-Man. That’s why I kept leaving, why I couldn’t be consistent. I wanted to, but I couldn’t risk—”

Her fork froze mid-air, coffee forgotten. Eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and recognition. “You… you’re Spider-Man?” she whispered, voice trembling with awe, anger, and the strange relief of understanding finally dawning.

“Yes,” you admitted, voice low, steady, though your own chest was tight. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but… I was afraid. Afraid you’d leave, afraid you’d—”

Her expression softened in that instant, a tapestry of pain, longing, and the quiet relief of clarity weaving across her features. Two years of distance, uncertainty, miscommunication, and longing melted into this fragile, taut moment. The woman across from you—the one you had left in the dark, the one whose life had continued without you knowing the half of it—was now confronting the truth. And for the first time, you realized that nothing else mattered but this: the possibility of a future, unbound by fear, secrecy, or omission.

Mary Jane set her hand on the table, fingers brushing against yours, tentative but searching, testing the solidity of this new understanding. “All this time,” she said, voice trembling slightly, “I thought… I thought I was just being left behind. And you… you were right there, hiding it for the world. But… I’m here now. And I… I think I understand.”

You nodded, heart pounding, words caught in your throat for a moment before you forced them out. “I know. And I… I’m here. If you’ll let me.”

Her smile was fragile, delicate, but unmistakably real. The tension that had shadowed the past two years wavered slightly, just enough to allow something new, something honest, to breathe between you. “I think… I want to understand. And maybe… give us a chance. Without lies.”

The city outside moved on, oblivious to the quiet reckoning inside the café. The hum of pedestrians, the distant traffic, the clink of cups and saucers—all of it faded into irrelevance. Inside this small corner of the world, the two of you sat, fingers brushing, breaths tentatively synchronized, the past acknowledged, and a new chapter hovering at the edge of beginning. Waiting. Waiting for the first step forward, together.