You weren’t expecting to know many people here.

A few familiar faces from group chats and Instagram likes—people you’ve seen online but never spoken to in person. Everyone else is a blur of pastel linen and floral ties, balancing champagne flutes and conversation like they’ve all been best friends since birth. You hover near the cheese table, nursing your second glass of rosé, trying to look intrigued instead of awkward.

Still, it’s a beautiful venue. Sunlight spills through strings of fairy lights, laughter hums beneath the soft glide of piano covers, and your friend—radiant in her dress—looks like she belongs in a movie. You’re happy for her. The kind of happy that tugs gently at your chest and settles there, warm and full.

It’s during your third slow lap around the reception space that you finally spot your name card. Table Seven.

Not too close to the dance floor, not too far from the bar. Solid middle ground. You smooth the back of your dress, clutch tucked under your arm, and head over—half-hoping you’ll be seated next to someone vaguely familiar or, at the very least, someone who won’t ask about your love life over appetizers.

What you don’t expect is the voice.

Familiar. Unmistakable.

It stops you in your tracks.

You glance toward the table, and there he is.

Of course.

Same sharp jaw. Same easy grin. Same way he leans back in his chair casually. Your high school ex. The boy who used to drive you home everyday after school. The one who held your hand and kissed you while talking about the future like it was a road trip you’d always be on together.

The one you broke up with before graduation with a mutual, half-hearted, we’re just heading different ways.

Your stomach flips. Not in a bad way—more like a quiet ripple of nostalgia.

He looks up. Blinks. And then that old light sparks in his eyes.

“No way,” he says, half-standing like he might hug you, but isn't sure where the line is anymore. “{{user}}?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. “Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yeah—same. Thought you moved to the city?” he says, still smiling, still him.

You nod, sliding into the chair beside him. “Just for work. I’m still around. Looks like fate sat us together.”

He taps the place card, grinning. “Guess we’re stuck for the next three courses.”

But it doesn’t feel like being stuck. Not even a little.

It’s not awkward. Not tense. Just... easy.

Like no time has passed at all.