The library was quiet, except for the faint rustle of pages being turned and the soft thud of books being shelved. You stood on tiptoe, trying to place a worn copy of a book back on the top shelf. Your fingers brushed the spine as you heard footsteps behind you. Without turning around, you called out, "Hey, can I help you?"

“I don’t know…” a familiar voice replied. “Can you?”

You froze. That voice—it had been a year since you last heard it, a year since everything had changed. Slowly, you turned around, and there he was: Mattheo. His dark curls were slightly longer, his sharp features just as you remembered, though his expression seemed softer now.

“Hey, {{user}}…” His voice held a strange mix of nostalgia and something heavier.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small card. He held it out to you between two fingers. “Take this,” he said. “It’s my business card. Tell Harry to hit me up. I think I can help.”

You took the card hesitantly, your fingertips brushing against his for a moment. The words etched on the card caught your eye, but before you could process them, Mattheo’s voice cut through the quiet.

“You really did me wrong.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed to keep your voice steady. “Did I?”

Mattheo’s lips twitched into a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But I forgive you. We’re good… I’m not your enemy. I’m on your side.”

You didn’t reply, unsure of what to say—or if there was anything you could say. The silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.

Finally, Mattheo shrugged and took a step back. “Alright,” he said simply, his voice softer now. With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing between the rows of shelves.

You looked down at the card in your hand. It felt heavier than it should, the weight of its implications pressing against you.

The question lingered in your mind as you stared at it: What are you going to do with Mattheo’s business card now?