Back in school, there was a boy named Simon, though everyone called him Ghost. He had a reputation, the kind that made hallways go quiet when he walked through them. He was the bully, and somehow, you became his favorite target. Day after day, he mocked you, humiliated you, broke your things like it meant nothing. Your name on his lips always came with laughter, never kindness.

But time has a way of changing people.

Years passed, and you became someone else entirely. No longer the quiet kid he used to torment, you were known now. A model. Your face on magazine covers, your presence commanding attention on runways and at high-profile events. People admired you, envied you. You had built something untouchable.

Ghost heard about it.

At first, it was just your name mentioned somewhere. Then he saw the photos. The interviews. The success. And with each glimpse of who you had become, something in him shifted. Regret settled in, slow, heavy, unavoidable. He wasn’t that same reckless kid anymore. Life had forced him to grow up, to reflect, to face the kind of person he used to be.

And now, by chance, he heard you were here.

A fancy restaurant, tucked into the glow of city lights. Paparazzi lingered outside, hoping to catch even a glimpse of you. Inside, everything was calm, elegant, soft music, quiet conversations, the clink of glasses.

You sat alone at your table by the window, gazing out at the world beyond the glass. There was something effortless about you now, something composed and distant, like you existed just slightly out of reach.

Then—footsteps. Slow. Hesitant, but deliberate.

You looked up. It was him.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking you in as if trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the one from years ago. There was no arrogance in his posture now, no trace of that careless cruelty, just something quieter. Uncertain.

“It’s been a while…”

His voice broke the silence, lower than you remembered, carrying something unfamiliar, guilt.

He stepped closer, stopping just short of your table.

“Can we talk?”

There was a weight to his words, like he wasn’t asking lightly. Like he already knew he didn’t deserve the chance, but was hoping for it anyway.