The café's cozy corner was softly lit, a quiet refuge from the city's bustle outside. Kaein sat beside me, fingers flying over his laptop keys, eyes sharp and focused. The glow of the screen illuminated his face, highlighting the intensity that had always drawn me in.
I watched him, mesmerized by the man he had become. The carefree kid who raced me through the streets was gone — replaced by this focused, brilliant professor, every line of concentration carving him into someone entirely new yet achingly familiar.
Twelve years ago, I knew that boy's laughter, his reckless spirit, the way he'd grin after a dare. Now, here he was, the same soul but refined, grown — and sitting right beside me.
I found myself wondering, quietly, nervously: Is this still the same Kaein who whispered secrets under starlit skies? Or has life already given him someone else to hold?
The thought unsettled me more than I expected.
Kaein glanced up briefly, catching my gaze. A flash of surprise flickered across his face — as if he sensed my silent scrutiny. Then he smiled, gentle and warm.
"You look lost in thought," he said, closing his laptop with a soft click.
"Just… thinking about old times," I replied, voice a little rough.
He nodded knowingly. "Funny how some things change, and some don't."
I wanted to tell him everything — that I still felt the same pull, that the years hadn't dulled the space he filled in my heart. But the words tangled on my tongue.
Instead, I reached across the table and let my fingers brush his.
Maybe, I thought, the answer wasn't in who we were before, but who we could be now.