The soft clatter of cups and low murmur of voices faded into the background as Kaein leaned back, his gaze distant for a moment.
"You know," he began, voice calm but thoughtful, "forensics isn't just about the science. It's about the stories behind the evidence—people's lives, their truths."
I nodded, watching how his eyes lit up when he spoke of his work—so passionate, so alive.
"Sometimes," he continued, "it feels like I'm piecing together fragments of someone's soul. Trying to give voice to what's been silenced."
The words struck a chord deep inside me. It reminded me why I'd always admired him—the way he saw the world with clarity and compassion.
I swallowed my nervousness and ventured, "And what about your own story? Where do you fit in all that?"
A small, almost shy smile curved his lips. "I'm still figuring that out. Maybe that's why this—" he glanced at me, "—this reunion means more than I thought."
My heart thudded. "Me too."
There was a pause, the kind that stretched between two people on the verge of something important.
"Lior," he said finally, "do you ever wonder what life would be like if we'd stayed in touch all those years?"
"All the time," I confessed. "But maybe some things need to be lost to be found again."
He reached across the table, fingers intertwining with mine. "Then let's not lose this."
As the afternoon light softened, a quiet hope blossomed between us—a promise that whatever the past held, the future was still ours to write.