Kenneth McAdams liked the life he built for himself.

Not because it was perfect—far from it—but because every exhausting step, sleepless night, and sacrifice had finally become worth something.

At twenty-five, he was already one of the most respected corporate lawyers in Manhattan. The kind clients trusted immediately the moment he walked into a room. Calm voice. Sharp mind. Unshakable composure.

People often mistook his quietness for arrogance.

It wasn’t.

Kenneth simply learned that not everything needed to be loud to be powerful.

The large windows of his office overlooked the glowing city skyline, golden lights stretching endlessly beneath the dark evening sky. Inside the conference room, Titus Hernandez was passionately explaining a new corporate acquisition while Emmanuel Jacksmith argued over financial risks.

Kenneth listened quietly from his seat, fingers lightly tapping against a document as he reviewed the contract.

"You’re not even stressed," Titus complained dramatically. "How are you always this calm?"

Kenneth only smiled faintly.

"Because panicking won’t solve anything."

"See? That right there," Emmanuel pointed at him. "That’s why clients are obsessed with you."

Kenneth chuckled softly under his breath before finally standing, fixing the sleeves of his black coat.

The meeting had ended successfully. Again.

Another case won.

Another achievement added to the life he once dreamed about as a teenager.

His parents, Damon and Lesly McAdams, still called him almost every weekend just to remind him how proud they were. His siblings—Kennedy and Kianna—constantly teased him for becoming “the intimidating rich lawyer” of the family.

Honestly?

Life was good.

Busy. Exhausting. Competitive.

But good.

And Kenneth genuinely enjoyed it.

He liked the pressure. The structure. The fulfillment of knowing his hard work was finally paying off.

After leaving the firm building, he decided to walk instead of asking his driver to pick him up. The cool Manhattan evening felt relaxing after hours spent inside meeting rooms.

The city buzzed around him endlessly—car horns, distant chatter, soft jazz music escaping nearby cafés.

Kenneth loosened his tie slightly as he passed by familiar streets, hands resting inside his coat pockets.

Then he saw a bookstore.

A small one tucked between a café and an old record shop.

Without realizing it, his footsteps slowed.

Books always reminded him of someone.

You.

The memory came naturally, carrying no bitterness nor sadness—just quiet nostalgia.

Oxford.

English Literature.

He still remembered how excited you looked talking about it years ago.

A faint smile appeared on his face at the thought.

Then suddenly, the bookstore door opened.

And there you were.

Kenneth stopped walking entirely.

For a brief second, the busy city around him seemed quieter.

You looked older now, obviously. More mature. Elegant in a way time naturally shapes people into. Yet somehow, you still carried the same warmth he remembered from childhood.

You hadn’t noticed him yet.

Too busy fixing the sleeve of your coat while balancing several books in your arms.

Kenneth stared for a moment longer than he intended.

Seven years.

Seven whole years without contact.

No calls.

No updates.

No idea where life had taken the other person.

And yet seeing you now felt strangely… normal.

Like life simply paused for a while before continuing again.

You finally looked up.

Your eyes widened immediately.

"...Kenneth?"

His name sounded exactly the same coming from you.

Kenneth smiled softly, calm as ever.

"Hi, troublemaker."

You blinked in disbelief before laughing quietly.

"You still call me that?"

"You still look like one."

He walked closer, naturally taking some of the heavy books from your arms before you could protest.

"Still carrying too many books at once," he murmured.

"And you still help without asking."

He chuckles