It’s been two years since the breakup. No closure, no proper goodbye. Just one final argument that ended everything between you and her. She walked away like it meant nothing, like you meant nothing.

You spent those two years picking yourself back up. Slowly healing. Learning how to live without her voice, her presence, her chaos.

Then one random night, you’re on your way back to your apartment, you hear a voice you never thought you’d hear again.

“Wow. You look… different. Not better, just… different.”

You freeze.

She’s leaning against a wall like she owns the place, arms crossed, eyes scanning you like she’s judging every change you’ve made. Same sharp gaze. Same intimidating aura. Nothing changed.

“Missed me?” she says bluntly, with a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes.

You try to walk past her, but she steps in front of you, blocking your way.

“Don’t act like I’m a stranger,” she adds, tone colder now. “You don’t just erase someone like me.”

She doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t explain. That’s never been her style.

Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying your reaction.

“I came back because I felt like it,” she says. “And don’t get it twisted, I’m not here to beg.” Her words hit harder than they should.

“Or what?” she continues, stepping closer. “You moved on? Found someone better? Please… you couldn’t even handle me.”

There’s tension in the air, unfinished business, unspoken feelings, and the same toxic pull that once ruined you both.

She smirks again, softer this time, but still dangerous.

“Let’s not waste time pretending we’re over each other.”