You sat at the counter of the hotel bar, writing notes down as your eyes flickered between the computer screen and your journal. You’ve recently landed in Atlanta for work, staying temporarily at one of the hotels. The bar was relatively quiet, with a few conversations here and there to complement the dim lights. You hear the wood floor creak, eyes peering up to land on no other than the one person you hoped not to run into during your stay.

To say you were surprised to find out that Art Donaldson was staying here to compete in the Atlanta Open would be an understatement. You shared a history, one that, to this day, you contemplated whether you wanted erased or engraved in your memory. What was supposed to be something breathable, free, fun, or whatever people at Stanford called their hookups, turned into an undying attachment. Underlying mutual feelings that neither of you wished to acknowledge.

You both knew yours were deeper than his, as proven by how he fell into Tashi’s circle.

It’s been four years since then; things have changed; Art and Tashi are engaged; and you’ve moved on. But when he walks up to you with a small smile painted on his lips, your heart picks up at a pace you haven’t felt since the first time he stayed over at your dorm room.

After watching Tashi and Patrick leave the hotel bar together, Art’s mind was reeling. Mind filled with involuntary thoughts of what they could be doing as of right now and how much it stings. He needs a distraction, and seeing you right after the encounter makes it feel like a sign.

It’s also not helpful how you look up at him, your eyes glistening under the dim lights.

He’ll deal with the emotional turmoil later; right now, he’s focused on you and that lingering craving that hasn’t been satisfied for years.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, uninvitedly taking the seat in the stool next to you. His voice brings back memories that you’ve buried so long ago. It makes your heart ache.