The Years Between Us

“Meara...” Reina paused. “Have you contacted Ezra?” The question pulled my attention away from the contract documents in my hands. Silence settled between us. That name—the ghost that had been haunting me long before the plane's wheels touched the runway this morning—had finally been spoken aloud. I gave a small shake of my head without looking at her, as though she had asked about nothing more significant than the weather. “I ran into him a few months ago at my father's birthday party,” Reina continued. She knew I was listening, even if I pretended otherwise. “He recently got engaged.” The words settled quietly between us. I had expected to hear them someday. Still, expectation and reality had never felt quite the same. The papers remained clenched tightly in my hands. For a moment, however, Reina’s office disappeared. Earlier this morning, the moment I stepped back into Windele after all these years, I already knew that name would follow me wherever I went. The city was still the same. Perhaps a little brighter. A little louder. Yet I could still feel its heartbeat in every corner that carried fragments of my past. I had pulled over briefly on the outskirts of town, staring at a small abandoned building. An old Japanese restaurant. Its faded walls stood beneath the morning light, while the sign above the entrance remained stubbornly intact despite years of dust and weather. I recognized the wooden bench out front immediately. The paint had long since peeled away, exposing dull, aging wood beneath. Even the hairline split at the corner of the seat remained exactly where I remembered it. I suppose time always takes its share eventually, little by little, even from the things that once seemed permanent. My hand had reached for the car door before hesitation pulled it back. Not today. This was already the second time I had stopped simply to stare at that building. I needed to keep moving. So I drove. The familiar outskirts gradually gave way to the heart of Windele. Modern buildings. Crowded streets. Glass storefronts reflecting the afternoon light. Eventually, I stopped in front of a two-story ivory building. It looked like a cross between a luxury studio and a contemporary art gallery. The entire facade was dressed in clean ivory tones that felt elegant and expensive without appearing cold. The architecture balanced classic details with modern lines, creating something refined and timeless. The most striking feature stood at the front corner of the building—a large half-circle glass dome framed by muted gold accents. Behind the curved glass was the main display area, illuminated by towering windows that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. I could already imagine how beautiful it would look at night, warm light spilling through the glass like liquid gold. My eyes drifted upward to the gold lettering above the entrance. Lumiere. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful. My old studio had never looked anything like this. I suspected I would spend the rest of my life owing Reina for everything she had done. I could practically picture the smug satisfaction on her face when she called to tell me she had finally found the perfect location after weeks of searching. At the time, she had been completely certain I would love it. Now I understood why. That sense of wonder lingered even after I found myself seated on the soft sofa inside Reina’s office, surrounded by pale gray interiors and floor-to-ceiling windows. The moment didn’t last long. The office door swung open, and Reina practically threw herself at me. “I still can't believe you're actually back in Windele.” Her voice trembled slightly. I knew she was emotional. It had been far too long since we had last seen each other. She wrapped her arms around me the moment I walked into her office. “You should've told me when you were arriving so I could pick you up.” “I did tell you I was coming,” I replied, entirely unapologetic. “You told me you were coming,” she corrected. “You never told me when.” In the end, all I could offer was a small smile that vaguely resembled an apology. Reina simply shook her head. She had known me far too long to expect anything more dramatic. We understood how each other worked. She still looked exactly like someone born to win arguments for a living. Sharp eyes. Sharp suits. Sharp mind. The kind of woman who could’ve easily lived comfortably beneath her family’s reputation but chose to build her own law firm instead. Honestly, my return to Windele would have been a disaster without her. She had taken care of everything. The apartment for me and the children. Their school enrollment. The permits for Lumiere. Everything. Now, several hours later, we sat across from each other once more. And the conversation I had been avoiding finally arrived. “I ran into him a few months ago at my father's birthday party,” Reina repeated quietly. “He recently got engaged.” Once again, the office vanished around me. I found myself drifting back to university hallways where Ezra used to wait outside my classroom. His eyes had always been warm. Never demanding. And his smile—the smile that never completely left his face, yet somehow always made me feel loved. Being with Ezra had once felt as natural as breathing. Effortless. Natural. Until I learned that loving someone was never as simple as breathing. “You know I've never contacted him,” I said quietly. “And I never will.” My voice sounded colder than I intended. Reina remained silent for a moment before speaking again. “But you're back in Windele now.” She held my gaze. “It won't take long before he finds out.” I said nothing. “It took him years to stop asking about you,” she continued softly. “I know this isn't easy for you, but Ezra deserves to know the truth.” I lowered my eyes to my hands, though I wasn't really seeing them anymore. Windele had never been a large city. Sooner or later, Ezra would learn that I had come back. And for the first time since returning, I found myself wondering whether coming home had been a mistake. Because if there was one thing I had learned fifteen years ago, it was this: some wounds never truly healed. They simply waited for you to come home.