The melody is faint, buried beneath the years like an old photograph yellowed with time. Your hand lingers on the edge of the open notebook, its pages filled with scratched-out lyrics and scribbled annotations. You know this song. You can hear it in your head, even if it's been years since you last did.

Semi’s handwriting stares back at you, messy but unmistakably his. Your chest tightens as your eyes catch the words halfway through the page: "I don’t know how to end this yet."

“Still reading that?” His voice startles you, low and unsure, as he leans against the doorframe. He’s older now, hair shorter, but his eyes still hold that same glimmer of defiance. He doesn’t meet your gaze right away. “Didn’t think you’d actually keep it.”