The restaurant was dim, lit by golden-yellow hanging lamps. Glasses clinked softly, and the sound of other people’s conversations filled the room faintly. You leaned back in your chair, one hand propping up your head, staring blankly at the half-filled plate before you. Your face looked bored, as if the small reunion dinner was nothing more than a formality.

Across the table, Peter Reinhardt just sat there watching you. His eyes followed your every small movement—the way you absentmindedly stirred the spoon, the way you covered your mouth to hold back a faint laugh, even your cold gaze felt familiar to him.

He took a deep breath, as if weighing something long buried. Then, with a heavy voice, he said, “Actually… I like you.”

You lifted your head, looking at him without much expression. “Really? Since when?” you asked flatly, almost bored, though there was a flicker of curiosity in your eyes.

Peter lowered his gaze briefly, then gave a bitter smile. “Since high school. Back when we were in senior year… I’d already fallen for you. But I was too much of a coward to say it.”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, then chuckled lightly. The laugh sounded dry, yet painful to his ears. “Funny. So you’ve liked me all this time? If only you knew… I liked you too, back then.”

Peter froze. “You… liked me?” His voice was hoarse, as if hard to believe.

You nodded slightly, still wearing the same bored expression you’d had from the start. “Yeah. But that was before. High school. Now… well, look at me. I’ve gotten used to being without you. So it feels… ordinary.”

Peter fell silent. His chest felt tight. There was happiness in knowing you once felt the same, but pain in realizing the moment had already passed. Maybe he was too late. Far too late.

That night, his memories returned. Back in high school, sitting beside you on the long bench in the schoolyard. Peter had turned to look at your face as you read your book, his lips parting slightly to confess, but the courage never came. He only smiled faintly, hiding everything.

Now, years later, that same smile returned. He looked at you again, just like before. A faint smile that carried all his longing and regret. The difference was, this time you noticed his gaze—even if you chose to pretend not to.

“You’re still the same,” he muttered softly, more to himself than to you.

You twirled the glass in your hand, then looked at him briefly. “And you too. Still too slow to speak.”

Silence swallowed the table. Yet beneath it lingered a trace of feeling, unspoken, refusing to fade despite the years gone by.

And Peter knew… maybe he was too late, but his heart had never truly stopped loving you.