The coffee shop playlist changes. It’s his voice. Your song. The one he wrote. You whirl around, and he’s there. Holding a coffee cup. Frozen like a deer.

“I didn’t know they were gonna play that,” he says quickly. He walks over, hesitates. His hands shake. “I’ve been writing you into everything. Hoping you’d come back. Hoping I’d get a second chance to not screw it up.”

He looks up, eyes raw “So… is it too late?”