3a
1009 Words
Dara woke the next morning to the gentle hum of cicadas outside her window, the same sound that used to lull her to sleep when she was a teenager. For a moment, with the early light painting the curtains a soft gold, she could almost trick herself into believing the last seven years hadn’t happened—that she was still seventeen, barefoot, sprawled across her bed, scribbling poetry in the margins of her math notebook while waiting for Ethan’s whistle from the oak tree outside.
But then her phone buzzed, and the spell broke.
The screen lit up with a work email. Even in Maplewood, hundreds of miles away from the city, the demands of her life tugged at her sleeve. She let the phone fall face-down on the quilt and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She didn’t want to think about work, or bills, or the carefully constructed independence she had built. Not today.
Today, her mind was still crowded with Ethan.
Seeing him again last night had cracked something open in her chest, something she thought she had sealed long ago. The way his eyes had softened when they met hers, the way he looked as if he wanted to speak but held back—God, it had been too much. She had barely survived the polite exchange before fleeing home, her heart pounding like she was seventeen again, caught in the tangle of first love.
She rolled over, hugging her pillow. The ceiling above her seemed unchanged from all those years ago. A faint c***k near the corner still stretched like a lightning bolt, one she used to trace with her eyes whenever she was upset. How many nights had she stared at that c***k after Ethan walked away from her life? Too many to count.
Her mother’s voice drifted up the staircase. “Dara! Breakfast!”
She sat up, combing her fingers through her hair. The mirror on her dresser caught her reflection—older, sharper, more tired. Not the girl Ethan once knew.
She wondered if he saw that difference last night.
---
Downstairs, the smell of coffee and maple syrup greeted her. Her mother was at the stove, flipping pancakes with the same ease as always. It should have been comforting, but Dara felt strangely displaced, like a guest in her own house.
“You were out late last night,” her mother said without turning. “Who’d you run into?”
Dara hesitated, pouring herself coffee. “Just… old faces.”
Her mother hummed knowingly. “Ethan?”
The name struck her like a pin to the skin. “Mom.”
“What? I’m just asking.” Her mother turned, spatula in hand, eyes twinkling. “I saw him last week at the farmer’s market. Handsome as ever. Works with his father now, doesn’t he?”
“Yes,” Dara muttered, sinking into her chair. “So I’ve heard.”
Her mother slid a plate toward her, the pancakes steaming. “It’s good, isn’t it? That you ran into him. Some things come full circle.”
But Dara wasn’t sure she believed in circles anymore. She believed in broken lines, in detours that never quite led back to where they started.
---
After breakfast, she decided to clear her head with a walk through town. Maplewood looked almost unrecognizable—the bookstore where she and Ethan used to waste afternoons had been replaced by a sleek coffee chain, and the movie theater now showed indie films instead of blockbusters. Yet, some things hadn’t changed: the mural on Main Street, the cracked sidewalk near the post office, the way people still greeted her with warm familiarity even after years away.
She turned down a quieter street, lost in thought, when a voice called her name.
“Dara?”
She froze.
Ethan stood at the corner, hands shoved into his pockets. His dog—a golden retriever with a graying muzzle—sat obediently at his side.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Ethan smiled, tentative but real. “Didn’t think I’d see you twice in two days.”
Her pulse quickened. “Small town,” she said, forcing nonchalance.
He nodded, glancing at the dog. “This is Cooper. He’s old, but he insists on his walks.”
Dara crouched, grateful for the distraction. She scratched the dog’s head, feeling the weight of Ethan’s gaze on her. “Hi, Cooper. You’re handsome.”
“You always did like dogs,” Ethan said softly.
She looked up, their eyes meeting. The air between them felt fragile, as if one wrong word might shatter it.
“How’ve you been, Dara?” he asked finally.
The question was simple, but loaded. How had she been? She could say fine. She could say busy. She could tell him about the job she worked too hard at, the city apartment that felt too small, the loneliness she carried like a second skin. But all that came out was, “Different.”
Ethan’s expression shifted, something wistful flickering there. “Yeah. Me too.”
Before she could reply, Cooper tugged on the leash, and Ethan chuckled. “Guess he’s ready to move. You want to… join us? Just around the block?”
The invitation hung between them. Dara hesitated, torn between the instinct to retreat and the ache to stay.
Finally, she nodded. “Sure.”
---
They walked in silence at first, their footsteps crunching against the pavement. Cooper sniffed at hedges, tail swishing. Ethan’s shoulder brushed hers once, and Dara felt the jolt all the way through her.
“You’ve been gone a while,” Ethan said eventually.
“Seven years,” she confirmed.
“That long,” he murmured. “Feels like yesterday sometimes.”
She stole a glance at him. The boyishness was gone, replaced by a steadiness she didn’t remember. But the way he smiled—the faint curve of it, the way it tilted slightly to the right—was exactly the same.
And it undid her.
- Writer
