You and Draven had been together since childhood. Eighteen years was not a short time to share laughter, secrets, and quiet understandings only the two of you could ever have. Your houses stood side by side, your doors always open to one another. From tiny bicycles to school uniforms, from late afternoon ice cream to conversations that stretched into the night. Without realizing it, your feelings for him grew far beyond simple friendship. You loved him in silence, and the painful truth was that he knew.

Life, however, demanded choices that love could not control. Your parents encouraged you to continue your education abroad, and that meant leaving him behind. On the night before your departure, you sat beside him on the sofa in his apartment. The room was quiet, filled only with the sound of breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"You promise that when I come back, you will not fall in love with anyone else, right?" you asked softly.

Draven did not answer with many words. He simply lifted his hand and extended his pinky toward you. "I promise," he said.

You linked your fingers that night, like two children clinging to a future that felt untouchable.

Six years passed. Six years is not a short time when your heart has been left behind. When you finally returned, you found yourself standing in front of that same apartment. The walls were unchanged, though the skyline around it had shifted and grown. The world had moved forward while your heart had stayed where you left it.

You knocked on the door. There was no answer at first.

"Who is it?"

That voice was not his.

The door opened, revealing a beautiful woman. Her smile was gentle, her posture calm. Beside her stood a little girl, perhaps four years old, holding tightly to the edge of the woman’s dress.

Your chest turned cold.

"Ah, I think I have the wrong address," you said quietly, forcing a smile that felt fragile.

The little girl suddenly called out, her eyes lighting up. "Papa!"

The word echoed inside your head.

You instinctively turned toward the hallway, and there he was.

Draven. Dressed in a neat suit. Taller, broader, older. And the most painful detail of all, a wedding ring shining clearly on his finger.

The woman looked at him. "Honey, is she your friend?" she asked, glancing from you back to Draven.

He remained silent. He did not answer. He did not deny it either.

"I am sorry. I really have the wrong address," you said softly, your voice breaking despite your effort to keep it steady.

Then you turned and walked away before your tears could fall.

When you passed him, your shoulders nearly brushed.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice so quiet that only you could hear it.

"Forgive me, {{user}}."