Chapter 12: Someone from before
1281 Words
Alex had asked her to meet him at the park two days ago.
It had been a short text—just five words, no punctuation: Same place. Saturday. 5 PM.
But Lexi had read it twice. Smiled to herself. That park had become their quiet ritual. A pocket of stillness in a world that never stopped spinning. And after a long week full of looming deadlines, late-night coffee, and missed calls, she’d replied with a simple: I’ll be there.
It had been a week since they last saw each other in person. Seven days of texts and voice notes, of falling asleep to the sound of his low, gravelly “goodnight” and waking up to his sleepy “morning, sunshine.” But today felt different. She felt it in her chest—that familiar flutter she always tried to downplay.
Now, standing by the entrance with the takeaway cups in hand, her heart gave a little hum.
The park smelled like late afternoon sun and jasmine. Lexi arrived first, her favorite cardigan wrapped around her shoulders, the breeze tugging playfully at the strands of hair she hadn’t pinned back. She held two takeaway cups from the little café Alex loved, fingers warmed by the paper, heart humming with the thought of seeing him again soon.
It was their place. Their little escape. The world always seemed quieter here.
She sat on the wooden bench beneath the oak tree—the one with initials carved deep into its bark—and let her gaze drift to the pond ahead. Ducks bobbed gently, and the trees swayed like they were listening to an invisible song.
She didn’t hear him at first.
"Lexi Carter?"
Her head turned slowly, almost cautiously, as if pulled by a thread spun from the past.
The man standing before her looked exactly like memory—but taller, broader now. Dark curls still unruly. Warm, hazel eyes that used to light up whenever they studied together. Gabriel Moretti.
“Gabriel?” Lexi stood up, heart stumbling. “Is that really you?”
He laughed, incredulous. “I was starting to think you’d disappeared from the face of the earth.”
She smiled, a little shyly. “It sort of felt like I did.”
He walked closer, and she noticed the same crooked smile, the same soft way he looked at her—like she was always in the middle of a story. Dressed in a navy jacket and jeans, hands tucked casually in his pockets, he looked good. Not just good—comfortably, effortlessly charming.
“I haven’t seen you since… since everything.”
Lexi nodded, unsure how much to say. “Yeah. After that, I just… needed space. From college, from people.”
Gabriel softened. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”
“I didn’t know how.”
A pause passed between them, full of old words left unsaid. Then he smiled again. “Well, it’s really good to see you. I didn’t think I’d ever run into you again, let alone here.”
Just then, footsteps crunched on the cobblestone path. Lexi turned—and there he was.
Alex.
Tall, in his dark henley shirt and soft gray coat, a paper bag in one hand and a barely-there smirk on his lips. His eyes flicked between Lexi and Gabriel in one second flat. Observing. Calculating.
And just a tiny bit… tense.
“Hey,” Lexi said quickly, walking up to him. “You’re here.”
“I brought those lemon pastries you like,” he said, handing her the bag. His voice was calm. A little quieter than usual. Then, to Gabriel, “Hey. I’m Alex.”
Gabriel extended a hand. “Gabriel. Old college friend. Just ran into Lexi after… what feels like a lifetime.”
Alex shook his hand, then looked at Lexi. “Small world, huh?”
“Apparently,” she muttered, managing a smile.
The two men stood in a delicate silence for a moment—one from her past, the other from her present—and it felt like walking a tightrope between comfort and curiosity.
“So,” Gabriel said, settling onto the bench again, “what have you been up to, Lex? Writing still?”
“Yeah. Freelancing now. A few columns, some magazine pieces. You?”
“Moved to Chicago for a while. Came back for a family thing. I’m just visiting.”
Alex sat beside her, one arm resting behind her on the bench, his fingers gently brushing her shoulder. A claim so subtle only she would notice. His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary.
Gabriel smiled. “Glad to know some things haven’t changed. You still have that dreamy look when you talk about your work.”
Alex’s jaw tightened slightly. “She does. Especially when she’s onto something she cares about.”
Lexi glanced sideways, suppressing a smile.
Gabriel went on, unaware of the slight shift in the air. “Remember that late night in the campus library? You were writing that article about heartbreak and said something about how ‘goodbyes are just future hellos waiting for better timing.’ I’ve never forgotten that.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, slowly turning to her. “That sounds familiar.”
Lexi gave a soft laugh. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I do,” Gabriel said, his gaze lingering. “I remembered a lot more than I thought I would.”
Alex looked away for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line. He adjusted his arm around her, then leaned in to press a kiss to her hair.
Gabriel blinked. “You two—are you…”
“Together,” Alex answered, before Lexi could speak. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight.
Lexi blushed, though the corner of her mouth curved. “We are.”
Gabriel nodded. “Well, good. You deserve that, Lex.”
Eventually, Gabriel stood. “Well, I should go. I promised my cousin I’d help with dinner.”
Lexi stood too. “It was… really good to see you.”
He hesitated. “I’m glad you’re happy, Lex. You seem… more grounded. Like you finally found your air.”
She blinked. “Thank you.”
Gabriel offered Alex a polite nod. “Nice meeting you, man.”
Alex smiled, polite but unreadable. “You too.”
As soon as he walked away, the quiet returned. But it was different now—laced with a little tension, a little heat.
“You okay?” Lexi asked, turning to him.
Alex gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I just didn’t know I’d be walking into a scene from your college memoir.”
She grinned. “You were very polite.”
“I wanted to throw a lemon pastry at him, but I restrained myself.”
Lexi laughed, leaning closer. “Jealous?”
He tilted his head. “What gave it away? The eyebrow twitch? Or the death grip I had on this bag?”
“Mm. Both,” she teased. “But I kind of like it.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “You like me jealous?”
“Just a little. You get all quiet and broody. It’s hot.”
He rolled his eyes, pulling her closer. “Remind me never to leave you unattended near handsome memory ghosts.”
“Noted,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.
The sun dipped lower. They sat on the bench together—her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped tight around her waist. And while the past had made a quiet entrance today, the future still belonged to them.
- Writer
