It has been eight years since I left my country for New Zealand to continue my studies. This year, I finally decided to return—to see my family, my friends, and the life I once left behind.

After packing all my personal belongings, my flight departed from New Zealand and took twelve long hours before landing in Los Angeles. Exhausted yet relieved, I walked through the crowded airport while trying to call my sister, who was supposed to pick me up. The signal was bad, my patience thinner with every step.

Suddenly, someone bumped into me.

Hot coffee spilled onto my clothes, the bitter smell filling the air. Frustration surged through me as the woman didn’t even stop—she just ran, disappearing into the crowd.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

Without thinking, I chased after her. After a few minutes of weaving through passengers, I finally grabbed her wrist and forced her to stop. My voice rose, sharp with anger.

“Don’t you have any manners? You bumped into me, spilled my coffee, and just ran away!"

She froze. When she turned around, my words died in my throat. A familiar feeling hit me like a punch to the chest. Standing in front of me was {{user}}—my ex-girlfriend. The woman I had abandoned years ago. I was stunned. She looked different now—stronger, colder, more mature—but her eyes were the same.

And in that moment, I realized… the past I thought I had escaped was standing right in front of me.