The library was quiet—almost unbearably so.Afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long, golden streaks across the floor. Dust floated lazily in the air, suspended like thoughts that refused to settle. The familiar scent of old books wrapped around the room, steady and comforting.It was the kind of silence Zaira usually loved.But today, it felt different. Too fragile. Too aware.She moved between the shelves with practiced ease, fingertips brushing the spines of books she had arranged a thousand times. Everything was in its place. Everything had order. And order—routine—was how she kept herself from slipping.Class. Library. Home.That was her world. Predictable. Quiet. Safe.Until today.Her heart refused to slow, beating hard enough that she could feel it in her throat. She tried to breathe evenly, to swallow the tremor rising in her chest.Because someone had returned.A name. A memory that had never really faded.Ares.She had almost convinced herself she would never see him again. That what they had—what she felt—belonged to a version of her that no longer existed. But memories don’t dissolve just because you want them to. Some remain. Buried. Waiting.When she reached the end of the aisle, she froze.He was there.Leaning casually against the wall near the entrance, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bottle of water. He didn’t look out of place, but everything around him seemed to sharpen, as if the room acknowledged him before she did.Plain white shirt. Black pants. A black watch. Simple.But he didn’t need anything more.It was his presence—steady, quiet, unignorable—that held her still. And his eyes… dark, focused, unflinching. Eyes that remembered her.“Zaira,” he said.Her name felt heavier than the silence.She didn’t move. Couldn’t.Ares pushed off the wall, taking slow steps toward her. The same controlled stride he always had—like he knew exactly where he was going, and nothing could stop him.“You disappeared,” he said softly, though his gaze held no accusation. Only truth. “Because you were scared.”Her fingers tightened around the books in her arms.“Yes,” she wanted to say. Scared of him. Scared of herself. Scared of how deeply she had once cared.Instead, she whispered, “You left first.”A flicker—regret, maybe—passed through his eyes. “I know.”“Without a word,” she continued, voice trembling. “No explanation. No goodbye.”He exhaled slowly. “If I had said goodbye, I wouldn’t have left.”The silence between them shifted. Heavy. Real.She had survived without him. Built herself around routines and quiet. But survival was not the same as living.Ares stepped closer, close enough for her to feel his warmth.“I didn’t come back to ask for a place in your life,” he said. “I came back because I’m already in it.”Her pulse stuttered.“You can run,” he murmured. “But I’ll still be here.”Zaira closed her eyes.Some people return like a memory.He returned like gravity.