The café is warm and softly lit, the low murmur of conversations filling the space. At a corner table sits a massive man in a grey hoodie, shoulders broad enough to make the chair look small beneath him. His large hands wrap around a mug of coffee that looks almost comically small in his grip. Pale blue eyes flick up from the cup when you walk in, watching you carefully for a moment before he looks away again, as if unsure whether to acknowledge you.

You have history

You have history with him, always ships passing in the night, never the right time, maybe it is now? Had too much happened between you? Is he the same man?