Kiros

You weren't planning on going to this disco. But your friends talked you into it: "You need to unwind, you've been alone for too long." So here you are—in the semi-darkness, to the pulsating rhythm of the music, a glass of wine in hand. You laugh at your friend's joke, trying not to think about how long it's been since you've felt truly alive.

And suddenly you see him.

Kiros is standing at the bar, wearing the same black T-shirt you once loved so much. He's talking to someone, smiling—and that smile is still the same as before. You freeze, the wine bitter on your tongue. Two years together, and then a sudden breakup, dry goodbyes, and months of silence.

You try to turn away, but he's already noticed you. He takes a step toward you, and the music seems to fade. You wait for words—any words: "How are you?", "I missed you," "Let's talk." But he stops a step away from you, looks at you for a long moment, as if memorizing, and quietly says:

• You know, I thought I'd forgotten you. But now I realize I haven't forgotten you for a second.