The city still smelled faintly of rain.
Avery stood there, clutching her folded resume, when she heard his voice the one that always sounded too calm for this world.
"Avery?"
She turned, and there he was Harrison. Coffee cup in hand, shirt sleeves rolled just below his elbows, that same gentle confusion in his eyes. He looked like someone who'd walked straight out of sunlight and into her storm.
She tried to smile but failed. "Hey. I didn't expect to see you here."
He tilted his head. "I could say the same. What happened?"
Her throat tightened. She didn't want to say it. Didn't want to admit how small the day had made her feel. But Harrison didn't look away, didn't offer pity just quiet presence. So she sighed.
"The interview," she murmured, lowering her eyes. "It was… bad. I forgot what I was saying halfway through. My mind just" she exhaled, "went blank."
Harrison nodded, his gaze softening. "That happens. To everyone."
"Not to people who actually belong in places like that," she muttered.
He took a small step closer, his voice almost a whisper. "You're wrong about that."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The street hummed faintly with passing cars and the distant hiss of a bus stopping nearby. Then, quietly, he held out the coffee he was holding.
"Here. You look like you could use this more than I can."
She hesitated, then accepted it. Her fingers brushed his brief but grounding.
"Thanks," she murmured, sipping it. The warmth spread through her chest, chasing away a bit of the chill that had been sitting there all day.
They sat down on the same bench she'd been crying on minutes before. Harrison didn't ask for details. He didn't need to. He just watched her, the way someone watches a storm aware of its strength but unafraid of getting caught in it.
"You know," he said eventually, "sometimes life closes doors not to reject you… but to redirect you."
Avery smiled weakly. "I've heard that before."
"Maybe you heard it," he said, "but you didn't believe it."
His words hit something tender. She looked away, blinking hard. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," he admitted. "But it's easier when you stop thinking every 'no' means you're not good enough."
A soft silence followed. Avery found herself studying him the faint crease between his brows, the steady calm in his voice. There was something about Harrison that made everything else fade.
"I don't get it," she said after a while. "Why are you always this calm?"
He smiled faintly. "Because once, I wasn't. And I lost a lot because of it."
Before she could ask what he meant, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, frowning lightly.
"I have to go. But, Avery"
"Yeah?"
He hesitated, then met her eyes. "Don't let today make you forget who you are."
And just like that, he walked away, leaving her with the faint warmth of his words and the echo of something she didn't quite understand.
That night, Avery couldn't sleep. The city outside her window was alive with noise laughter, car horns, the low hum of life moving on without her.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day in her mind. Mrs. Collins' cold tone. The silent rejection. Harrison's gentle smile.
Maybe she should've felt better she'd survived worse days. But tonight, it felt heavier.
Like something was shifting in the air.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She grabbed it lazily, expecting a message from Lena.
But it wasn't her.
> Unknown Number:
Hey. It's been a while.
Avery's heart stopped. The contact photo was gone but she didn't need one.
She knew that number.
She knew that tone.
> Elijah.
Her chest tightened. She hadn't seen his name in months hadn't let herself think about him, not after what happened.
She locked her phone, then unlocked it again.
The message stared back at her, like a ghost waiting to be acknowledged.
She typed:
> What do you want?
Then deleted it.
Typed again:
> Why now?
Deleted it again.
She sighed and tossed the phone aside, pressing both hands against her face. The air in her apartment suddenly felt too thin.
The next morning, she moved through her routine like a ghost herself — coffee, shower, half-hearted breakfast. But her mind wasn't with her. It was back in a time when laughter came easily, when Elijah's hand fit perfectly into hers.
By afternoon, her chest ached from all the remembering she swore she'd never do again.
So she went for a walk.
She didn't have a destination — just movement. The city was glowing gold under the setting sun when she found herself near the old café. The one where she and Elijah had spent so many afternoons, pretending time would always wait for them.
Her breath caught. She almost turned away. But fate, it seemed, wasn't ready to let go.
He was there.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, phone in hand, looking both familiar and wrong at the same time.
"Elijah," she whispered.
He turned, that same crooked smile spreading across his face the one that used to melt her anger and undo her pride.
"Hey, Ave," he said softly. "You look… different."
"Different?" she echoed, forcing her voice not to shake. "What does that mean?"
He shrugged. "Older, maybe. Stronger. I don't know."
His tone was easy, almost teasing like they hadn't ended in pieces.
Like she hadn't cried herself to sleep for weeks after him.
Avery crossed her arms. "Why are you here?"
He sighed, stepping closer. "Because I realized walking away was the stupidest thing I ever did."
She blinked, stunned. "You don't get to say that, Elijah. Not after you left like it meant nothing."
"I know," he murmured. "And I've hated myself for it every day since."
The air between them pulsed heavy with words left unsaid, with history too alive to bury.
And for the briefest second, her heart betrayed her. It beat faster, remembering the way he once looked at her like she was the only person in the world.
But then she remembered the silence that followed when he stopped.
She took a step back. "You shouldn't have come."
He smiled faintly, sadness flickering in his eyes. "Maybe not. But you didn't block my number either."
Avery froze, caught between anger and ache.
And that's when she realized Harrison made her feel safe, but Elijah still made her feel seen.
And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.