**Nilla & James — The Present**
"Okay," Nilla said, lifting a spoon to her lips and tasting the curry James had brought. "This is actually decent."
James grinned, holding up his hands in victory. "Decent? For homemade curry from a reformed heartbreaker? I'll take that."
They were sitting in the breakroom of the shared project space their companies had rented—one of those rare evenings where everyone else had gone home but they'd stayed behind, caught in a cycle of edits and ideas.
"You're not trying to bribe me with food to like you again, are you?" Nilla teased, crossing one leg over the other.
James shrugged, casual but honest. "I'm trying to share things I care about. Cooking's one of them. So is being present. So is figuring out who this bold, brilliant version of you is."
Nilla met his gaze for a beat too long before glancing away. "You're a lot gentler than I remember."
"That's because I finally learned that strength doesn't have to be loud."
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the air between them humming with a new kind of electricity—something lighter than romance, heavier than friendship.
Nilla finally spoke. "We were too young. Too ambitious in the wrong ways."
James nodded. "And too scared to admit we didn't know how to be good to each other."
She looked at him, something soft flashing behind her eyes. "I'm not sure where this is going. But I think I'm open to finding out."
James raised his curry container. "To finding out, then."
As they clinked containers like glasses, the door flew open with the energy of a whirlwind. Sarah. She stopped in the doorway, one hand on her hip, the other holding a bubble tea. She narrowed her eyes.
"Oh. Curry. Cozy lighting. Intense eye contact. What am I interrupting?"
"Nothing," Nilla said quickly.
"*Curry*," James added at the same time.
Sarah squinted between them. "Mm-hmm."
She handed Nilla the tea, leaned close, and whispered (loudly), "Just remember: reformed exes are like expired coupons. Maybe useful, maybe poison."
"I heard that," James said, amused.
"You were supposed to," Sarah chirped, giving him a wink before skipping out.
Nilla rolled her eyes, laughing. "She's cautious, not subtle."
"She's a good friend," James said. "She should be cautious. I earned that."
---
Back in his family's estate, Theo sat in his father's study—only now it was *his* study, officially passed to him in anticipation of the takeover. Stacks of reports, executive summaries, and restructuring plans lined the desk, but his focus drifted.
He pulled open the bottom drawer and retrieved a small photograph—a candid shot Sarah had once sent him. Nilla, laughing mid-spin in the rain, soaked and radiant. He ran his thumb across the image. He missed her. Not in a possessive way. Not even with regret.
He missed being close to someone who made the world feel real and honest. He missed *her*, the way she challenged him, inspired him, loved him without ever shrinking herself.
And yet... he didn't pick up his phone.
Because he'd promised her—and himself—that when he came back, it would be when he was *ready*. Not halfway. Not tethered to expectations.
Just as she was becoming something greater, so was he. He'd almost finished building the future he wanted. He just didn't know if she would still be there when he got to it. But he hoped. Deep down, with quiet sincerity… he hoped.
Three months had passed since Theo stood at the head of his family's long conference table and declared himself ready to lead. He'd made sweeping changes—modernizing internal structures, increasing transparency, and prioritizing people over politics. And he'd done it.
Now, the plane hummed beneath him as he touched down, the city skyline rising to meet him like a half-forgotten dream.
He texted one person.
**Theo:** *Are you free this weekend? I'd love to see you.*
The reply came faster than he expected.
**Nilla:** *How's Sunday afternoon? I'd like to see you too.*
---
The café was quiet, with a warm afternoon breeze drifting through open windows. Nilla was already there when Theo walked in, a small bouquet of blue hyacinths in hand. They were her favorite. She looked up, smiling—soft, surprised, but genuinely happy.
"You remembered," she said, taking the flowers.
"I never forgot," he said quietly.
She gestured for him to sit across from her. "You look different."
"You do too. Stronger. Calmer."
"I am."
A quiet moment passed between them, comfortable in a way that only came from real affection, history, and time apart filled with growth.
"I heard about the company," she said. "Congratulations, Theo. You did it."
"It's not done yet," he said, "but I'm building it into something better. Something mine."
He paused. "That's also why I'm here. I said I'd come back when I was ready… to see where I might fit in your life again."
Her smile wavered slightly, though her eyes remained kind. "I'm glad you're here."
But she didn't say *me too*. Theo noticed.
"I've been spending more time with James," she said gently, fingers wrapping around her coffee cup. "He's changed. We've both changed. And we're... getting close again."
Theo nodded, heart steady but aching. "Does he treat you well?"
"He does," she said, with no hesitation. "And I think we're both trying to treat ourselves better too."
Theo leaned back, watching her with eyes full of care. "Then I'm glad. Even if it's not me—I just wanted you to be happy."
Nilla reached out, brushing his hand with hers briefly. "You were a part of me becoming this version of me. That doesn't disappear. I'll always care about you."
He nodded, voice quiet. "I'll always care about you too."
And that was it. No begging. No bitterness. Just a man who came back to tell the woman he loved that her happiness mattered more than his pride—and a woman strong enough to meet him with grace.
They finished their coffees, talked a little longer—about Sarah, about cybersecurity, about the wild world of corporate reform. As Theo left, Nilla watched him go, heart warm and just a little heavy. Maybe some people didn't stay in your life forever. But some left fingerprints that never faded.