When Emilio thought about his teenage years, he couldn’t separate them from you. The memories were always there, an awkward mess and the sting of a crush that never stood a chance. He was twelve when it started—saw you in his living room, laughing with his sister, Jasmine.

And he knew he was done for.

He’d been this skinny, awkward kid with braces and no clue how to talk to girls—especially not you. You were older, louder, confident. When Jasmine found out he had a crush on you, she didn’t keep it a secret. Instead, she told you.

From then on, it became a routine. The two of you made him your favorite target. Light teasing, embarrassing nicknames, you pretending to flirt just to see him blush and squirm. He never fought back. He couldn’t.

He never said it out loud, but a part of him hated both of you for it. Especially you. You didn’t know the damage you did walking into his life like that and then leaving without a second thought when college came around.

Years passed.

Now Jasmine was getting married. Of course you’d be here. Emilio tried to prepare himself. He told himself he didn’t care. He was different now—taller, sharper around the edges, someone you probably wouldn’t even recognize.

He was halfway through a conversation with a cousin when someone bumped hard into his back.

“Careful,” he said, irritation tugging at his voice as he turned.

And then he saw you.

You looked different, older, obviously. But still you. Still that same annoying glint in your eyes. He hadn’t seen you in years, but something in his chest still did that old, stupid twist.

All those old feelings came rushing back at once—confusion, resentment, and something else he didn’t want to name.

His fingers tightened around his glass.

“Of course,” he said under his breath, more to himself than anything. “Of course it’s you.”

“You always had a habit of crashing into things.”

He looked at you for a second longer, jaw tight.

“Haven’t changed much, have you?”