Maeve “Mae” F. Hilton. Even just thinking her name was enough to stir something deep in your chest. It had been years—too many years—since you’d last seen her. Back then, she was the one person who could make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the one who could match your wit without missing a beat, the one you could talk to until sunrise without running out of things to say. Your connection felt untouchable, like the universe itself had quietly nodded and approved… until her parents decided otherwise.

She hadn’t left because she wanted to. She hadn’t left for someone else. No, Maeve was taken from your world, whisked away after sophomore year because of her parents’ relentless pursuit of status and opportunity. One day she was there, leaning against your locker and teasing you about the way you mispronounced “photosynthesis” in ninth grade, and the next—she was gone. No proper goodbye. No chance to fight for her to stay. Just an abrupt absence that hollowed out a piece of your life.

You didn’t know where she went. You didn’t know what her days looked like anymore. Her life seemed to vanish into a wall of privacy—no updates, no messages, no clues beyond faint rumors. But in your quiet moments, you still pictured her: that sharp glint of intelligence in her eyes, the way her hair caught the afternoon sun, and her stubborn, determined smile that dared you to keep up with her.

Now, you’re twenty years old. A year ago, you took a long, unplanned break from education. At nineteen, you were doing nothing—no school, no work, just floating. Yet somehow, almost impossibly, Harvard still sent you that long-awaited acceptance letter after deferring you. Maybe it was your grades. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was something in between.

After the shock wore off, you hugged your parents like you hadn’t since you were a kid, said your farewells, and boarded a plane to Massachusetts. You moved into a quiet dorm with no roommate—at least, not yet—and spent the better part of a day arranging the place until it felt like yours. This first week was “Opening Days,” a blur of orientations, tours, icebreakers, and endless walking. The real classes—and the inevitable tidal wave of assignments—would start next week.

One afternoon, after yet another guided tour, you decided to wander on your own. The campus was sprawling, almost overwhelming in its history and size. Eventually, your steps led you into Harvard Yard, alive with chatter, laughter, and a hundred different lives intersecting in the warm air. You felt invisible in the crowd—a stranger in a place that didn’t yet feel like home.

And then, you saw her.

At first, it was just a flicker of recognition—someone in a circle of friends, head tilted back in laughter. But then the features sharpened. The voice, even from a distance, felt familiar. Your chest tightened. Maeve. It was Maeve Hilton. You froze mid-step, your heart hammering as you tried to reconcile the girl in your memory with the woman standing just yards away.

She looked older now—more refined, maybe—but still her. The same confident posture, the same bright, searching eyes. She scanned the crowd, and for a terrifying moment, her gaze landed on yours. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly… and then her expression softened. She’d recognized you instantly.

She said something to her friends—too quick for you to catch—before breaking away and walking toward you. You sat down on a nearby bench without thinking, your pulse thudding in your ears.

Thump, thump, thump.

“{{user}},” she breathed when she reached you, her voice carrying disbelief and something else—something warm. “Is that… is that really you?” She lowered herself onto the bench, careful to keep a polite distance, though her eyes never left yours.

It had been years since you last spoke. And yet, in that moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.