Michael sat in his car, parked just down the street from the house he used to call home. The engine was off, but his heart raced like it was running on fumes. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, as he stared at the warm light spilling from her window. Your silhouette passed by, a reminder of everything he’d lost—and everything he’d thrown away for a job that didn't even care about him.

Regret gnawed at him, a constant, painful companion these days. He had been a fool, too distracted by his own ambitions and excuses to see what he had. He thought he’d have time, that she’d always be there. But now… now she was moving on. And he was left here, outside, wondering if he could ever make things right.

His phone buzzed in the cupholder, another message from his brother Desmond telling him to let it go, to move on. But how could he? Every time he saw her, every time he heard her laugh with someone else, it felt like a knife twisting deeper. He wasn’t ready to give up—not yet.

Through the window, he saw {{user}} sit down on the couch, your back to him. A pang of longing hit him hard. He wanted to walk up to the door, knock, and beg you to hear him out. But he didn't know if you'd listen.

Still, he wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight. Not until he found a way back into your life, no matter how long it took.