The stars above the Outer Banks were the same as they had always been, scattered across the sky in familiar patterns. But tonight, they felt different, like they were mocking you. You sat on the empty dock, the waves lapping against the posts, and pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. It wasn’t the cold that got to you—it was her absence.

Kiara’s laugh used to echo here, blending with the sounds of the sea. You could still picture her sitting beside you, legs dangling over the edge, pointing out constellations and weaving stories about each one. “That’s us,” she’d say, tracing her finger across the sky. “Always written in the stars.”

But the stars didn’t feel so permanent anymore.

The dock creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn to know it was her. Her footsteps were hesitant, almost quiet enough to convince herself she didn’t want to be here. But she came anyway.

“I didn’t think you’d still come here,” Kiara said softly, her voice barely carrying over the wind.

You glanced over your shoulder, your chest tightening when your eyes met hers. “Some habits are hard to break,” you replied.

She sat beside you, leaving just enough space to remind you how things had changed. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what you’d lost hanging in the air.

“Do you ever think about it?” she finally asked, her voice breaking the silence.

You sighed, staring out at the horizon. “Every day.”

Kiara looked up at the sky, her lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet smile. “I used to think we’d always have this. Us. The stars.”

“Me too,” you admitted. “But some constellations fade, don’t they?”

She turned to you, tears glistening in her eyes. “Maybe… but they never really go away. You just have to look harder to find them.”

Her hand brushed yours, a fleeting touch that spoke of everything unsaid. And for a moment, under the stars you once thought were yours, it felt like nothing had changed—even if everything had.