The Return
The bus hissed to a stop, exhaling warm air into the cool morning as the doors folded open. Joeffer stepped down, his worn sneakers sinking onto the pavement of a town he had sworn he'd never return to. The wind carried the faint scent of sea salt and freshly baked bread from the old Panadero bakery across the street—exactly the same as it had five years ago. Time had moved, but Calvero seemed to greet him with the same quiet familiarity, as though it had been waiting.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack and scanned the street. The buildings looked smaller than he remembered, as if the years away had enlarged everything else in comparison. The lamppost he once sat beneath, scribbling comic designs in a notebook, still leaned slightly to the left. Even the cracked sidewalk remained, including the faint "J + N" etched near the corner—initials carved during a sunset that felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.
Joeffer's chest tightened at the sight.Don't think about her yet, he told himself. But memories rarely obey commands.
He hadn't returned for nostalgia. He returned because life, with its unpredictable sharp turns, had sent him back. Losing his job in the city, the breakup with someone he never loved as much as he tried, the pressure of expectations—everything had tangled together until coming home felt like the only path left. His parents were thrilled, his father even offering him a helper role at the small family workshop. But Joeffer knew he couldn't avoid the past forever, not in a town where every street corner whispered a name he once held like prayer.
Nathalie.
He pushed the thought aside and walked toward home, letting the quiet hum of the morning fill him. Vendors pulled open metal shutters, students in uniform shuffled lazily to school, and distant motorcycle engines echoed along the coastal road. Nothing dramatic, nothing new—yet each ordinary detail tugged at him with strange comfort.
As he passed the town plaza, he slowed to a stop.
The old cinema stood across from him.
Its once bold red letters, CALVERO THEATER, were faded but still intact. The poster frames were empty, dusty glass reflecting his face back at him. He could almost smell the buttered popcorn they used to buy, even though they never finished it—too engrossed in whispering jokes and exchanging glances when they thought no one was looking.
This theater was where he first held Nathalie's hand.Where she leaned her head on his shoulder.Where their final scene had taken place.
He forced himself to keep walking.
Nathalie's alarm buzzed against her pillow. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Her small apartment above the dance studio smelled faintly of lavender oil and new costume fabric—a scent she had grown used to.
She stretched, brushing her fingers against the corner of the desk where a thick script lay open. Scribbled notes filled the margins: blocking reminders, emotional cues, highlighted lines. The upcoming community theater production was the biggest project she had taken on in years, and she was responsible for both choreography and co-directing. Stress clung to her like shadow, but she welcomed it. Work kept her heart steady.
Still, today felt… different somehow.
She brewed coffee, the aroma blooming in the room. As she sipped, she glanced out the window. Down the narrow street, the town moved like a slow heartbeat. Familiar, dependable. She had built a life here—a quieter one than she once dreamed, but one she could hold without fear of it falling apart.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her friend, Mara:"Guess who I saw at the terminal this morning."
Nathalie raised an eyebrow."Who?"
The reply came instantly:"Joeffer. As in that Joeffer."
Nathalie froze.
The mug in her hand suddenly felt heavier. For a moment she wondered if she had read it wrong, but the letters on the screen remained unkindly clear.
Joeffer. Back in town.
She placed the mug down, conscious of the quick thudding of her heartbeat.
They hadn't spoken in years—not after her audition in the city went horribly wrong, not after the night she cried outside the old cinema, not after the goodbye that wasn't really a goodbye but a silence that swallowed everything.
He left.She stayed.Life, in its cruel timing, chose for them.
Nathalie inhaled slowly, grounding herself. She was not the same girl he left behind. She had work now. Students to teach. A production to run. A life rebuilt from quiet pieces.
Still…
Why did her chest feel as though someone had tugged on a thread she thought she'd already cut?
With a steadying breath, she typed back:"Maybe you were half-asleep. You sure it was him?"
Mara replied with a photo taken from across the terminal.
There he was.Joeffer.Same eyes. Same unsure posture. Older, maybe a little tired. But unmistakably him.
Nathalie closed the conversation and leaned back against her chair. She let the silence of her apartment settle around her. Her fingers trembled slightly—not from longing, she told herself, but from surprise. Shock. Nothing more.
"Five years," she whispered.As if saying it aloud might dilute the emotions swirling inside her.
She took another sip of coffee, even though it trembled at her lips.
Joeffer reached the family home—a small two-story house with pale blue walls that always needed repainting. Before he could knock, his mother flung the door open and wrapped him in an embrace so tight he lost his breath.
"My son!" she cried. "You're too thin! Did the city starve you?"
He laughed softly. "Ma, I'm fine."
But her warm hug made something inside him unclench. Maybe coming home wasn't such a bad idea.
His father appeared behind her, arms crossed but eyes warm. "We'll talk later," he said. "Let him breathe first."
Joeffer stepped inside, inhaling the familiar scent of pine cleaning solution and cooked garlic. Home.
Yet even in this comfort, a lingering thought tugged at him.
Would he run into Nathalie?Did she still live here?Did she even think of him anymore?
He shook his head. No sense dwelling on what couldn't be undone.
Still… his hands slid into his pocket and brushed against a small, folded piece of paper—one he had carried for years. A ticket stub from their last movie together. He didn't know why he kept it. Maybe because part of him felt unfinished.
Maybe because he had never stopped loving her.
That afternoon, Nathalie stood in the dance studio adjusting the speaker when the door opened.
A familiar silhouette paused in the doorway.
Her heart stopped.Her breath caught.The world narrowed.
Joeffer.In front of her.Five years condensed into one impossible moment.
His eyes widened, mirroring her shock.
"Nathalie…" he whispered.
Her pulse thundered.
This—whatever this was—was the beginning.
The first page of something they both thought ended long ago.
The first love.The final scene—perhaps not as final as they believed.
END OF CHAPTER 1
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