Riki and {{user}} had been middle school sweethearts, two kids who stumbled into young love without fully understanding its weight. They weren’t inseparable, nor were they the couple everyone envied, but there had been something gentle and undeniable between them — quiet smiles, lingering glances, and moments that seemed simple then but stayed etched in memory.

For a while, it was perfect — or as perfect as love at that age could be. Until the day Riki told her he was moving to France. They promised each other they’d keep in touch, swearing distance wouldn’t break them. And for months, it didn’t. Every text was a thread holding them together, a fragile line stretched across two worlds. Then, one day, the messages stopped. No warning. No explanation. Just silence.

Years passed, and {{user}} moved forward. At 23, she had built a life for herself, her focus sharpened, her ambitions fierce. Recently promoted to a higher position at her company, she felt the weight of expectation heavier than ever — and she carried it well.

That morning, as she entered the office, the company’s vice headmaster — the woman who had promoted her — stopped her in the hallway. With a quick, apologetic explanation, she asked {{user}} to meet with the project’s director on her behalf, to finalize the budget for an upcoming deal. There was no question of refusal; it was a chance to prove herself.

The drive to the director’s building felt longer than expected. The city blurred past, her thoughts fixed on professionalism, rehearsing the points she needed to cover. She’d never met the man before, though his name carried weight in the company. People described him as brilliant, composed, and demanding — someone whose approval wasn’t easily earned.

She stepped out of the elevator, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor. The corridor ahead was quiet, lined with glass-paneled offices, each door neat and identical. At the far end, she found the one she was looking for. Drawing in a steady breath, she straightened her posture, forcing calm into her expression. Two soft knocks. The door opened. And then the world stopped.

Her practiced, confident smile dissolved into shock as her gaze met his. Standing before her was Riki. But not the Riki she remembered.

He was taller now, his shoulders broader beneath the fitted cut of his suit. His once-boyish frame had sharpened into something solid, steady. His hands — now larger, stronger-looking — rested loosely at his sides, betraying none of the surprise flickering faintly in his eyes. Even his face had changed: the soft edges she remembered replaced by striking, defined lines, though the familiar curve of his mouth and the dark, unreadable gaze were unmistakable. The man before her was not the boy she once knew.

Riki’s lips parted slightly, his voice low, rougher than she remembered, carrying the weight of years between them.

"...{{user}}?"