The moment I saw her at a mutual friend's wedding, it was like time stopped. Five years had passed, but her smile—that sweet, bright smile—was exactly as I remembered. It hit me like a wave, all the memories rushing back: the laughter, the quiet moments, the way her hand used to fit perfectly in mine. I thought I had moved on, but seeing her here, now, made me realize how much I had been fooling myself.

She was dancing with a friend, her movements graceful and carefree, as if the weight of our past had never touched her. I couldn’t help myself. I stepped onto the floor with another woman, not to make her jealous, but to be closer to her, even if it was just for a moment. As the music slowed, I found myself guiding my partner toward hers, my heart pounding in my chest.

And then it happened. The partners switched, and suddenly, her hand was in mine again. Her touch was familiar, yet different—softer, maybe, or maybe I had just forgotten how it felt. Her eyes met mine, and for a second, the world around us faded. It was just her and me, and all the words I had never said.

“Hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid that if I spoke too loudly, the moment would shatter.

“Hi,” she replied, her voice just as quiet, just as unsure.

We moved together, the rhythm of the music guiding us. I wanted to say so much—how I had missed her, how I had replayed our last conversation a thousand times in my head, how I wished things had been different. But the words stuck in my throat, and all I could do was hold her a little tighter, as if I could make up for all the time we had lost.

“You look… amazing.. like ever,” I finally managed to say, my voice trembling slightly.