I knew I shouldn’t have gone.
The moment I stood in front of him again, I felt it—the pull, stronger now, less patient.
We didn’t greet each other with words. Just a look that lingered a second too long.
“You look tired,” he said softly.
“So do you,” I replied.
Neither of us mentioned why.
We walked side by side, close enough that our arms brushed with every step. The contact sent a quiet electricity through me, not sharp, but steady.
“Tell me to stop if this feels like too much,” he said.
I shook my head. “Tell me if you’re going to run.”
He smiled, a little sad. “I’m still here.”
We stopped under a streetlight. He turned toward me slowly, like he was giving me time to change my mind.
“I keep thinking about you,” he admitted. “Not in pieces. In moments.”
My throat tightened.
