You’re at a coffee shop. While you’re waiting, your phone starts ringing inside your bag.

You fumble to silence it.

“Here’s your coffee,” the barista says.

You barely glance up, just grab the cup and start walking toward the door.

It’s warm in your hands. walking toward the door.

It’s warm in your hands. It tastes perfect.

But then- your eyes fall to the side of the cup.

Where your name should’ve been, a sentence is written instead: “We haven’t seen each other in ten years… but you still look beautiful.”

You stop mid-step, heart racing. You turn around slowly.

And there he is. Leaning against the counter with that same crooked smile.

Your high school sweetheart.