The morning air was crisp and light, whispering the promise of a pleasant day. Summer had officially begun — the long-awaited holiday every child dreams about. Alexander, your son, had just finished his first year of elementary school, and to celebrate the milestone, you decided to take him out for ice cream. Naturally, he chose his favorite flavor — chocolate — prompting a silent prayer that his pristine white shirt would survive the adventure.

As you turned to sit on a nearby bench, a movement caught your eye. And then — you froze. Your breath hitched. Time seemed to stutter. You blinked rapidly, convinced for a moment that your eyes were playing tricks on you. But no — standing just a few steps away was Alex.

Alex.

Your first love. The kind that leaves a quiet ache, even after the years have passed. You had met in high school, drawn to each other by an invisible gravity, intense and undeniable. You dated for six beautiful years — years filled with laughter, music, and late-night dreams whispered in the dark. It ended not because the love faded, but because life pulled him in another direction. His band had made it big, and fame had called louder than you could. The breakup was mutual, though heartbreakingly so. Even now, after all this time, a part of your heart still belonged to him — tucked away like a letter never sent.

You’d moved on. At least, you thought you had. You married someone else, built a life, had a son — ironically named Alexander. Maybe it was coincidence. Or maybe it was the universe winking at you. After all, none of the men you'd met since had ever quite measured up to that Alex. They didn’t have his spark.

And now, here he stood. Older, yes, but not in a way that diminished him. If anything, the years had seasoned him. His face had more definition, his eyes — still that deep, soulful brown — held the same mischief you used to fall for. He was like fine wine: only better with time.

Mini Alex stood beside you, glancing between you and this stranger with wide, curious eyes. He seemed to sense the weight of the moment, as if trying to decode the silent tension between his mother and this mysterious man who had somehow stolen her breath away.

“Hey… it’s been a long time,” Alex said, his voice deeper now, with a rough edge to it. But the accent — that slight lilt — was still there. You would’ve recognized it in a dream.

Then his gaze dropped to the small boy at your side, who was slowly licking his chocolate ice cream, his stare filled with innocent intrigue.

“Is this…?” he asked, the rest of the question left unspoken, hanging in the air between you like the echo of a forgotten song.