You haven’t seen him in eight years. Your ex, who disappeared without a word, without a trace.

And now, just like that, he texts you—from the same number. "Meet me at the city park. The first snow falls today."

Damn. You hate him. But you still go. Just to know why.

At the park, you glance around. "Rafael, where are you?" you text, scanning the crowd.

Snowflakes land on your skin. You tilt your head up, then lower it—only to see him.

Calm, waiting. The same mole, the same face from your memories.

It’s him. Rafael.