They were once the kind of couple people envied — effortless, electric, the kind of love that turned ordinary moments into something worth remembering. Rowen Cyran loved you like it was easy. Like breathing. He’d trace constellations across your skin and swear he could see forever in your smile. You made him better without trying, softer without asking.

But forever came too soon. The world shifted, cruel and unrelenting, tearing you apart not with anger but with distance — the slow, silent kind that seeps in between phone calls and unspoken words. He tried to fight it. You both did. But love, no matter how bright, can’t always outlast the storms that life invents.

When he left, it wasn’t goodbye — not really. It was something heavier. A pause that never found its end. And time, in all its indifference, went on.

Years later, when he saw you again, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just a passing face in the blur of the day. Until it wasn’t.

You were standing across the street, sunlight catching on you the same way it used to — like even the light remembered. And in that one still moment, Elias forgot everything he’d learned about moving on.

The noise around him dulled. The years collapsed. All he could do was stare, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and recognition.

The love he buried came back with terrifying ease — wild, familiar, alive. His chest ached, not from longing, but from the sheer impossibility of feeling this much again.

You didn’t have to speak. You didn’t have to smile. Your eyes met, and that was enough.

And just like that, Rowen Cyran was falling in love again — quietly, completely, as if no time had passed at all.