The sound of clinking glasses and muted chatter filled the dimly lit pub. It had been years since you stepped foot in Manchester, years since you packed up your life and moved far away to escape the constant reminders of him. John Price. The man who broke your heart with a cold finality that still stung if you let yourself think about it too long.

You weren’t expecting to see him tonight. Not here, not ever. But when you turned from the bar, drink in hand, there he was—broad-shouldered and imposing as ever, standing in the doorway like a shadow from your past. His eyes scanned the room, and then they landed on you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The weight of unspoken words hung thick in the air. John’s gaze softened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he started toward you. Instinctively, you wanted to run, to avoid the confrontation you’d always dreaded. But your feet stayed planted, rooted in the spot.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” John said, his voice low and familiar, like an old song you couldn’t forget.

“Didn’t plan on being here,” you replied, forcing a neutral tone, though your heart hammered in your chest. “Just visiting.”

He nodded, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You look good,” he said after a beat, his eyes lingering on you.

“You look…” You hesitated. Different? Older? Tired? “...the same.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

You shifted on your feet, the awkwardness between you palpable. “What do you want, John?” you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But…I’m glad I ran into you.”