Stardust and Kisses

Forgotten

Heather

As I walked into the café, my eyes immediately landed on the guy sitting by the window, fidgeting with his coffee. Aaron D’costa. He was hard to miss—his face was a study in quiet strength and warmth. His jawline was sharp, giving him a strong, defined profile, but there was a softness to him that showed through in the small details. His eyes, a deep shade of green, are piercing yet kind, like they hold both wisdom and a vulnerability that few get to see. When he looks at me, it feels like he’s seeing more than just my face—like he’s looking into my soul. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, always falls just right, no matter how much he runs his hands through it in frustration or thought. And those dimples—God, those dimples—are impossible to miss when he smiles. They soften the intensity of his features, adding a boyish charm to his otherwise rugged appearance. It’s like every line and curve of his face tells a story, and I’ve fallen in love with every single one of them. But something about him seemed so familiar, something that tugged at a memory I hadn’t touched in years.

It hit me like a punch to the gut.

Aaron.

The same Aaron who used to run wild with me through the neighborhood when we were kids. Aaron, who taught me how to climb trees when I was eight, dared me to race him to the top as our lives depended on it. I remember falling once, scraping my knee, and him laughing it off, telling me to “quit crying, sunshine, it’s just a scratch.”

Then he moved away. Just like that. No goodbye. No explanations. One day he was there, the next he wasn’t. And now here he was, all grown up, completely oblivious to the fact that the girl standing in front of him was the same one he used to dare to eat dirt.

I squared my shoulders, trying to shake the weird feeling gnawing at my gut. He looked so different. Handsome, sure, but in that careless, reckless way that screamed trouble. I doubted he’d remember me.

I approached the table, trying to keep it professional. This wasn’t about old memories or lost friendships—this was about his current mess, and I was here to fix it.

“Aaron D’costa?” I asked, my voice steady, even though my heart was pounding a little too fast.

He glanced up, giving me this half-smirk, like he was trying to figure me out. “Yeah?”

I paused for just a second, waiting for something—some flicker of recognition in his eyes—but nothing. It was like he was seeing me for the first time. I swallowed down the sting of disappointment and extended my hand. “Heather Castro. Your prosecutor.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re… the prosecutor?” he asked, staring at me like he couldn’t believe it.

I crossed my arms, trying to keep the professional mask in place, but inside, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was staring at a ghost of my past. “Expecting someone else?”

“Yeah, someone older, maybe. Not—” He trailed off, probably catching himself before saying something stupid.

“Not a woman? Not someone young?” I threw back at him, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, yeah. Guess I wasn’t expecting… you.”

I studied him for a moment, waiting for some flicker of recognition. Maybe a “Hey, wait, didn’t we used to play hide-and-seek until the streetlights came on?” But no. Nothing. Not even a damn hint of it.

He didn’t remember me at all.

Figures. I was just the scrappy little girl from next door, right? The one who probably annoyed the hell out of him with my constant chatter and daring.

Part of me wanted to throw it in his face, remind him of who I was. But what would that solve? He’d moved on from those days, and honestly, so had I. I wasn’t the same girl who used to follow him around like a shadow. I am a prosecutor now, and I have a job to do.

Still, it stung.

“Well,” I said, forcing myself to stay professional, “I’m here to help you get out of this mess. Your father made sure you had the best.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair, giving me this lazy smirk that would’ve been charming if I didn’t know better. “So, you gonna save my ass or what?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Don’t get cocky. You’re not exactly making my job easy with all the s**t you’re involved in.”

His smirk faltered, but he leaned forward, his gaze locking onto mine. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“That’s not what the headlines say,” I shot back.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I don’t give a damn about the headlines.”

“Well, you should,” I said, crossing my arms. “Because right now, the headlines are making you look like a reckless, spoiled celebrity who can’t keep his personal life out of the tabloids.”

He winced, but I didn’t let up. “If you want me to help, you’re going to have to listen to me. Stop acting like this is just going to blow over.”

Aaron stared at me for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Fine. I’ll listen.”

I studied him again, still waiting for something—anything—to show me that he remembered the days we spent tearing through the streets of our old neighborhood, but it was clear he didn’t.

And that was fine. I wasn’t that girl anymore. And he wasn’t the boy I used to know.

“Good,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s get to work.”

But damn if it didn’t hurt just a little that he didn’t even remember my name.