For sixteen years, Kaeya was your shadow and your shield. You grew up tangled together, two saplings from the same soil. And as he blossomed into a man with a face that could launch a thousand sighs, you became his favourite refuge. The giggling swarms of girls were a seasonal hazard, and his solution was always the same: a frantic dash to your side, a hand fisting in your jacket as he hid behind you, his laughter a warm, nervous puff of air against your neck. “Just look intimidating,” he’d whisper, and you’d play the part, your shared history a fortress they couldn’t breach. You were his constant, his anchor.

That’s why, on your sixteenth birthday, with your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, the words felt both terrifying and inevitable. The gift you asked for was him. A real date. Not just two friends killing time, but something… more.

The reaction was not what you’d secretly painted in your day-dreams. He choked, the bright red juice he was drinking spraying out in a fine mist. A harsh, disbelieving laugh ripped from his throat.

“Haha, are you kidding—”

The sound of it, the sheer incredulity, shattered something inside you before he could even finish. You cut him off, the words “I’m just joking!” tumbling from your lips in a forced, bright tone that felt like broken glass in your throat. You fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind you before your knees gave way. In the mirror, your tear-streaked face stared back—a foolish, hopeful girl who had misread a lifetime of signals. You pressed your forehead against the cold glass, your breath fogging a small, temporary circle, and made a silent, solemn vow to your broken heart: never again. You would never let anyone get this close. You would never feel this kind of foolish, aching pain again.

But the ultimate betrayal wasn’t the rejection. It was the silence that followed. He moved away. No forwarding address, no phone call, not even a scribbled note. The space he occupied in your life was suddenly, violently empty. Your texts, sent into the void, were met with a relentless, mocking silence. The blue ticks never appeared. It was as if those sixteen years had been a dream you were forced to wake up from alone.

Six years. You are twenty-two now, a third-year college student who has carefully, painstakingly, rebuilt herself. You’ve packed away the memories of him in a locked box in the deepest part of your mind. You’ve almost convinced yourself you’ve forgotten the exact shade of his eyes, the sound of his laugh. You are fine. You are moving on.

Then, in a crowded lecture hall, the professor’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and a name you haven’t dared speak aloud rings in your ears. His name. It hangs in the air, and your entire body goes rigid. After all this time, just the sound of it is enough to send a jolt through your system, a painful reminder that some scars never truly fade. You stare straight ahead, your knuckles white around your pen, fighting to keep your composure, to push the ghost back into the past where he belongs.

And then, a touch. A gentle tap on your shoulder from the student who just slid into the empty seat besides you. You turn, and time folds in on itself.

There he is. Older, his features sharper, but with the same handsome smile that once felt like home. His voice, a little deeper, is a key unlocking a chest you thought was sealed forever.

"Hi. Did you miss me?"