“…Where are you?”
I froze, my breath fogging up the windshield. His voice hadn’t changed—steady, calm, like the years between us were nothing more than a bad dream.
“Outside your building,” I said quietly.
There was a pause. Not awkward—just heavy, like something unspoken was finally finding its way to the surface.
“Stay there,” he replied. “I’m coming down.”
I almost hung up. My fingers hovered over the screen, heart pounding harder than it should. Three years of silence… and now this? It felt too easy. Too sudden.
But I stayed.
A few minutes later, I saw him. Same walk. Same jacket style. Just… older. Tired, maybe. Or maybe that was just me seeing what I felt.
He knocked on the window.
For a second, I couldn’t move. Then I unlocked the door.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
That was it. No dramatic apology. No shouting. Just one small word carrying years of regret.
He popped the hood, like nothing had ever changed. Like we were kids again, messing around with Dad’s old car. I stepped out, the cold biting through my coat, but I barely noticed.
“You still ignore warning lights?” he asked, a faint smirk forming.
I let out a small laugh. “Some things don’t change.”
He glanced at me then—really looked. “Yeah… some things don’t.”
Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty.
“I missed you,” I blurted.
He didn’t hesitate. “Me too.”
That was all it took.
No big speeches. No perfect timing. Just two people, standing in the cold, finally choosing each other again.
The car started a few minutes later.
But something else started too.
