Elian Carter stepped off the bus and let the salty breeze wrap around him, brushing against his cheeks like a familiar hand. Avenridge hadn't changed. The cobblestone streets, the faded murals on the café walls, and the ocean stretching endlessly in the distance — everything looked frozen in time, as if it had waited for him all these years. Yet, the town felt smaller somehow, quieter, and heavier with the memories he had carried across five long years.
He tugged his coat tighter around him, though the chill wasn't entirely from the wind. The real cold lived inside his chest, in the hollow space left by the girl he had once called *home*. He paused at the corner of the street where the bakery used to stand, the scent of fresh bread and vanilla drifting faintly from inside. Memories of Mara laughing as she reached for the highest shelf, playfully scolding him for teasing her, came rushing back. He shook his head, trying to push them away, but the wind seemed to insist on carrying them right back.
"Mara…" he whispered, almost laughing at himself for speaking her name into the empty street. The breeze caught it, curling around the corners, brushing the water, and teasing memories he had tried to bury. Every streetlamp, every alley seemed to whisper fragments of the past — the stolen glances, the late-night conversations, the fights he had left unresolved.
The café was still there. The little bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open, and for a moment, it felt like stepping into another life. The smell of coffee and cinnamon welcomed him like an old friend. The wooden tables, scarred from years of use, and the faded photographs on the walls all seemed to hold their shared history. Then he heard it — the faintest strains of a piano melody he had composed years ago, a tune that Mara had always loved. His song. Their song.
And then he saw her.
Mara Ellison stood by the window, brush in hand, painting the ocean with the same soft strokes she had always used. Time had changed her — her hair longer, eyes deeper, and the quiet strength she carried now replaced the playful girl he remembered. But she was undeniably *her*. His chest tightened, and a sharp pang of longing shot through him. He wanted to run forward, to speak, to fix everything — yet he froze. Years of silence, misunderstandings, and broken promises had built a wall too high for a simple greeting.
A memory flashed in his mind: a summer evening by the cliffs, Mara laughing as he tried to balance on the edge. "Don't fall!" she had cried, and he had caught her hand, feeling a spark he had never forgotten. He had promised her then, without knowing how fleeting promises could be. He had left. And now the weight of that choice pressed down on him.
Mara glanced up, and for a moment, recognition flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone — replaced with that careful distance, the invisible line between past and present. "Welcome back," she said softly. No warmth, no accusation — just the faintest echo of the girl he had loved.
Elian swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, his voice trapped behind the knot of guilt and longing. He wanted to say something profound, something that could mend the years of absence, but all that came out was a whisper: "It's… been a long time."
Mara's lips pressed together, her gaze drifting back to the canvas. "Five years," she replied, voice calm but deliberate, as though each word was measured carefully to keep her heart safe.
He nodded, glancing around the café. Nothing had changed, yet everything felt heavier, weighted with memories he could neither escape nor rewrite. "Nothing's changed here. Still smells like cinnamon and regret," he said, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Her gaze met his briefly, sharp and piercing. "Some things don't change," she said, voice low, "unlike people, apparently."
Elian flinched at her words, guilt twisting in his chest. He wanted to argue, to tell her how much he had missed her, how he had thought of her every single day, but he knew that no words could undo what he had done. Instead, he simply nodded, letting the silence stretch between them, heavy but honest.
The wind whispered through the open window, rustling the pages of an old notebook on the counter. It carried a fragment of a melody he had written for her, a tune he had thought was lost to time. Mara's hand trembled slightly as she adjusted the brush, her eyes glistening faintly. For the first time in years, something unspoken passed between them — a fragile acknowledgment that the bond they shared had not entirely faded.
Elian took a tentative step closer, heart pounding. "Mara, I—"
"Don't," she interrupted gently, her voice firm but not unkind. "Not yet. I'm not ready."
He stopped, the ache of longing mixing with understanding. He had come back to heal, to apologize, maybe even to rekindle what was lost — but he realized some wounds took longer than he had imagined. Some hearts needed time. He could wait. He would wait.
And so, they stood there, separated by distance and years, yet bound together by the whispers of the past, the winds of memory, and the song that had never truly left them.