Two days after the café, Elara found herself standing outside the small park near the riverside — the same one where she and Adrian used to meet after class. The air was cool and smelled faintly of wet grass, the river glimmering under the late afternoon sun.
She didn't know why she came. Maybe curiosity. Maybe hope.
Or maybe she simply wanted to see if the memories still lived there.
"Still early," she murmured, checking her watch.
But before she could turn away, she heard a voice she'd never forgotten.
"You're still bad at waiting, El."
Elara spun around. Adrian stood a few steps away, holding two cups of milk tea — her favorite, same flavor, same pearls half-melted in the ice. For a second, time folded in on itself, and she was eighteen again, blushing under the summer sun.
"You remembered," she said, accepting the cup.
"Of course," he replied, smiling faintly. "Some things don't change."
They walked along the riverside in silence for a while, the world around them slowing down — children playing with paper boats, leaves floating lazily in the water, the sky deepening into orange.
"So," Adrian said after a moment, "how's life been treating you?"
Elara chuckled softly. "Busy. Ordinary. Quiet."
"And your writing?" he asked. "Still keeping a journal?"
She hesitated. "Something like that."
(More like a box full of unsent letters, she thought.)
"And you?" she asked. "Still chasing dreams?"
Adrian sighed, eyes drifting toward the river. "I did. For a while. But after everything that happened… I realized dreams mean nothing if you have no one to share them with."
Elara's heart ached at the quiet sadness in his tone.
"I missed this," he added after a pause. "Just… being with you. Talking. Like nothing ever changed."
"Things did change," she said gently.
"Yeah," he agreed. "We just didn't."
A soft breeze passed between them, carrying the scent of rain and memories. Elara watched him — the way his eyes still softened when he smiled, the way he listened like every word mattered.
It felt easy again. Dangerous, but easy.
As the sky darkened, Adrian looked at her with that familiar, careful expression. "Elara… if you could go back, would you change anything?"
She looked at the river, at the fading light, and whispered, "I wouldn't let you leave without knowing how I really felt."
He exhaled slowly. "Then tell me now."
Her breath hitched. For a moment, her heart screamed to finally say it — I loved you. I never stopped.
But instead, she smiled sadly. "Maybe next time."
He nodded, though his eyes said he already knew.
They stood there in silence, the night wrapping around them gently. And for the first time in three years, Elara felt something she hadn't in a long time — peace.
But peace never lasted.
Because later that night, as Adrian helped her carry her things to the car, his hand brushed against a small wooden box on the backseat. He lifted it curiously.
"What's this?" he asked.
Elara froze. Her pulse stopped.
The box.
The letters.
Her past — her heart — about to be opened.