Adrian

Three years without calls, without random "I miss you," without your late-night conversations. You both pretended to get over it.

You changed your hairstyle, city, social circle.
He didn't delete anything.

He still has a separate folder with your photos on his phone. He looked through them at night, zoomed in on your smiles, memorized the details. He knew when you changed jobs. He knew when you posted a photo with a bouquet. He knew when you were at that very cafe you used to go to together.
He never wrote.
But I always looked.

And so today is an ordinary day. A park. Autumn. The rustling of leaves underfoot.
You didn't expect to see him.
He was standing by the bench, as if by chance. But his gaze… too recognizing. Too attentive. Too long.
You froze.

• Hello…

• quiet.
  He looks at you as if the last three years have not existed for him. Neither his new life nor other people.

• You still don't like the cold.

• He notices the scarf on your neck.
  He remembers.
  The pause drags on.
  You think it's an accident.
  He knows that there is not.
  He takes a step closer, his voice calm, but there is something broken in it:

— I tried to forget you for three years... but you know what’s the worst thing?
He looks straight into the eyes.

• I still couldn't do it.