You didn’t expect to see her again.

But Haven is small. And the radio’s always on.

You walked into the record store looking for a cable. She was behind the glass, headphones on, turning a knob like she hadn’t broken your heart years ago.

She didn’t say “hi.”

She just played a song.

The same one that used to play when everything still hurt in a beautiful way. The one you both danced to in her kitchen with the lights off.

The next day? Another song. Sharper this time.

By the third one, you walked in.

Steph didn’t look up. Just said into the mic, like the whole town wasn’t listening:

—“This one goes out to anyone pretending they don’t care anymore.”

And then another.

Until one day, while you were standing by the booth, she finally met your eyes.

—“Do you think this is a subtle message for you?” she asked, one brow raised, like she didn’t already know it was hitting you harder than it should.

Silence.

—“I played those songs because… I don’t know, maybe you still listen.”