You hadn’t planned on running into Effy Stonem again. Bristol was just supposed to be a detour—a city you barely knew, full of rain-slick streets and unfamiliar faces. But there she was, leaning against a graffiti-stained wall, cigarette in hand, hair wild as ever. Only… this wasn’t the Effy you remembered.

When you were kids, she was laughter and mischief, daring you to climb higher, dive deeper, get into trouble that felt small then but reckless now. You had shared secrets you swore you’d never tell anyone, whispered plans in treehouses and on rainy afternoons. But now… her eyes were sharper, darker, distant.

“Effy?” Your voice felt foreign in your own mouth.

She glanced up slowly, expression unreadable, before smirking. “You still sound like you just walked out of a different life.”

You hesitated, noticing the way she held herself—arms crossed, a protective shell you didn’t remember, as if the world had carved lines into her you couldn’t erase. “You’re… different.”

“Am I?” she asked, voice low, teasing. “Or did you just forget who I really am?”

The city felt smaller suddenly, the familiar streets now shadows of the past. You wanted to reach for her, to remind her of the girl you knew, but there was a wall there. One she had built herself.

“You don’t have to explain,” you said finally, stepping closer. “I just… missed you, Effy.”

Her eyes softened, just slightly, before she looked away toward the darkening skyline. “I missed something too,” she admitted, but you couldn’t tell if she meant you—or something lost inside herself.

For a moment, the old Effy flickered in her expression, mischievous, wild, and heartbreakingly familiar. And you realized that some parts of people don’t return—they linger, hidden beneath layers you have to peel away, slowly, carefully… if they let you.

“You’re still impossible,” you said with a small laugh, trying to bridge the gap between the girl you knew and the woman she had become.

She smirked again, lighting another cigarette. “And you always were too trusting.”