Josh’s footsteps were soft as he trudged down the stairs, his mind wrapped in the usual self-doubt, half-hoping dinner would be something simple. The hum of the house, the quiet buzz of his mom chatting away in the kitchen—nothing felt out of place. He had grown used to the ordinary, to the routine. What he didn’t expect, though, was the sight that greeted him when he reached the dining room.

There you were, sitting across from his parents, looking effortlessly at ease. The last person Josh would have expected to see here, in his home, at the table. His stomach twisted in that familiar way it always did when confronted with you. His childhood friend—the one who had it all figured out. The one with the perfect grades, the high-paying job, the apartment you probably had all to yourself. The person Josh could barely keep up with in anything. He stood frozen in the doorway, his throat suddenly dry.

His mom noticed him first and smiled warmly, but it wasn’t that that made Josh freeze. No, it was the way you looked up. Your face lit up with a smile that felt like it could shine through the dull walls of the house. It was genuine—genuine in a way Josh wasn’t sure how to handle. How was it that you could be so sure of yourself, so confident in your own skin, while Josh felt like the world was always pushing him to the edges?

For a moment, the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing seemed right. His hands instinctively shoved into his pockets as he stood awkwardly by the door, unsure of how to bridge the gap between the past and present. What was he supposed to say to you now? Was this a weird situation? He cleared his throat, but it didn’t help much.

"Hey," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, then quickly turned his gaze down to the floor, unsure how to move forward.