December 22, London.

You sobbed into a pillow, tears streaming down your face as you clutched it and whispered Milo's name.

Three years had passed since he left, but the ache persisted. Memories haunted you, your daily routine a cruel cycle: wake up, berate yourself, mindlessly scroll through Tinder. No matches meant more tears.

That night, as you slept, something strange happened. — You jolted awake to the sound of your alarm. Strange, you thought, I threw that away years ago. You snoozed it and checked the calendar: July 15, 2017. This was your old bedroom, your parents' house. You sat up, bewildered

Your phone buzzed with a notification from Milo. The night before, you'd been out, hammered. Milo had brought you home and given you his number, a date set for tomorrow. — You arrived at the café, butterflies swirling. Milo waited outside, smiling warmly. Your eyes met, time seemed to slow. He extended his hand. "Hey, you must be... {{user}}?" His voice, his smile – you'd missed them so much.