One year later, we saw each other again.
A mutual friend's wedding. He was wearing a navy suit. His hair was a bit longer. Same crooked smile.
"Hey," he said, like it hadn't been twelve months of silence.
"Hi."
We danced once. Slowly. Like two people trying to remember the steps.
"I missed you," he said.
"I missed you too."
And suddenly, just like that, it was all back. The feelings. The laughter. The way he looked at me like I was still his favorite book.
We started talking again. Then dinner. Then sleepovers that turned into mornings where we'd lie there like maybe we still had a shot.
But it wasn't the same. Not really.
He was still in Chicago. I was still here. We were trying to patch something that had already drowned.
One night, lying on my couch, I asked, "Are we doing this again because we want it… or because we're scared of starting over?"
He didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," he said softly. "Maybe both."
He kissed me like it meant everything.
And the next morning, he left without saying goodbye.