I couldn't sleep.
Not even close.
The memory of seeing him again, hearing his voice, feeling the brush of his hand—it played on repeat like a song I didn't want to stop but couldn't stand to hear either. My chest ached in ways I forgot were possible.
I kept telling myself: it's just one night. One stupid, messy, impossible night. Don't let it mean anything.
But it already did.
And then… the universe decided I wasn't allowed to pretend anymore.
I ran into him again.
Completely by accident. Or maybe fate, whichever sounded less cruel at the moment.
He was leaning against the wall outside that little café I liked—yeah, the one I swore I'd never go back to. And somehow, it made him look like he belonged there… like he had been waiting for me all along.
I froze.
"You're everywhere," I said, trying to sound casual. But my voice cracked, and I hated it.
He smirked, but there was something dangerous behind it. "Not everywhere," he said softly. "Just where it matters."
That… that should have been the end of it.
It should have been a smile, a small laugh, and me walking away like I was fine.
But I wasn't fine.
Not even close.
We ended up walking together, side by side. Neither of us talking at first, just moving in rhythm like we were two halves of something that didn't realize it was broken. The streetlights flickered above, casting long shadows, and I couldn't stop glancing at him.
I noticed things I hadn't before. The way his jaw tightened when he smiled, the way his eyes softened when he looked at me. How his hand twitched like he wanted to reach for me but didn't.
The air between us was thick.
Electric.
Finally, he stopped. And turned to me with a seriousness that made my stomach drop.
"I need to tell you something," he said. His voice low, almost trembling, like he was about to reveal something dangerous.
"Now?" I asked, trying to sound calm. I failed. My hands were sweating. My heart was hammering.
"Yes. Now."
He looked away for a second, like he was gathering courage. Then, finally, he met my eyes again.
"I… I never stopped loving you," he admitted. His words were simple. But they carried years of silence, regret, and longing all wrapped into one.
I couldn't breathe. I wanted to run, to scream, to laugh, to cry—all at the same time.
"You can't just say that," I whispered. My voice barely audible. "You can't just say that after everything…"
"After everything, nothing's over," he said, interrupting me. And his hand brushed mine—so slight I could have imagined it. But I didn't. My heart recognized it instantly.
We stood there in the dark, neither moving, neither knowing what would come next.
And then, like fate had a sense of cruel timing, my phone buzzed.
A message.
A name I hadn't seen in years.
And suddenly, the world shifted.
Because love isn't the only thing waiting for second chances.
Secrets are too.