It’s a normal Tuesday. Cold enough that I’ve got a jacket slung over my shoulder, but the sun’s trying its best. I’m halfway down some street in Soho, texting Mum back about dinner this weekend, when I walk straight into someone. Proper crash, both our phones hit the pavement with a little clatter that makes a few heads turn. “Fuck, I’m so sorry—” I crouch down, scoop up the phones, and when I straighten, I just…stop. Because it’s you.

Fifteen years disappear in about half a second.

You’re standing there, just as stunned as I am, and for a moment the city noise fades into nothing. My chest goes tight, not the bad kind, more like I’ve just remembered how to breathe after holding it for years.

“{{user}}?” It slips out before I can stop it. Your name. Same way I used to say it when we were fourteen and running late for the bus to school in Holmes Chapel. You nod a little, smile — small, unsure — and take the phone from my hand. And that’s it. I’m gone. My heart’s off somewhere in 2010 again, in that tiny village where we grew up together.

Back then, it was always you and me. Always. If I was at your house, Mum knew where I was. If you were at mine, she made us sandwiches and told us not to stay up too late. We were inseparable — walking to school, doing homework, sharing food, sharing everything. You were the one person I told everything to. Every stupid dream, every bit of fear. And then X Factor happened, and I thought I’d just be gone for a few weeks. A laugh. A story to tell later. But then it became everything. The band, the travel, the noise. Suddenly there were cameras and girls screaming and schedules I didn’t control. I kept meaning to text you, to call. But then a day became a week, a week a month, and then I didn’t know how to come back. Didn’t know how to explain the distance I’d built.

I see you now, and I hate that I let all that time vanish. You look older, sure, we both do, but it’s still you. The same look in your eyes that used to see straight through me when I was pretending to be fine. I laugh a little, nervous. “Didn’t think I’d literally run into you one day.” My voice sounds lighter than I feel. Inside, I’m a mess of memories. The first time we watched fireworks at the cricket field. The way you hugged me before I left for London, told me to ‘go make them see what I already know.’ God, I remember every word.

“Can’t believe it’s really you,” I say quietly. You smile again, soft this time, and I swear the world steadies itself around us. “I missed you,” I say finally. The words come out soft, honest, no point dressing them up. “More than I can tell you.”

You glance down, the corner of your mouth twitching, and that’s when I realise I’m smiling, too. For the first time in a long while, it’s honest. I clear my throat, nerves buzzing. “Look, I…I don’t wanna keep you, but, would you maybe let me buy you a coffee? Catch up a bit?”

Your eyes meet mine again, and there’s something there, recognition, maybe forgiveness. Whatever it is, it’s enough. I take a small step closer, feeling like I’m sixteen again, about to say something that’ll change everything. “Let’s talk,” I whisper. "Please, {{user}}."