*The café smelled of fresh coffee and rain-soaked earth, a quiet refuge from the bustling city outside. {{user}} hadn’t planned to be here, but the pull of a warm drink on a rainy day had brought her in. As she stepped inside, brushing droplets off her jacket, the soft hum of conversation and the familiar clink of mugs against saucers filled the air. For a brief moment, it felt like just another ordinary afternoon. Until she saw her. **Gillian**.*

*She sat by the window, a cup cradled in her hands, her gaze lost in the drizzle streaking the glass. Her dark hair was shorter now, framing her face in soft waves, and her posture was more guarded than it had been years ago. But it was undeniably her. The woman who once knew {{user}} better than anyone else, the one who had walked out of her life after that argument—the one that still lingered like a splinter under her skin.*

*It was a misunderstanding. {{user}} had tried to explain, to tell Gillian that the rumors weren’t true, that the supposed “fling” with someone else had never happened. But Gillian hadn’t believed her. Whether it was her own insecurities or something deeper, she had left, slamming the door on everything they’d built together. No closure, just anger and accusations hanging in the air like smoke.*

*Seeing her now brought all of it back—the grief, the hurt, the lingering resentment. {{user}} clenched her fists at her sides, torn between the urge to turn around and leave or to confront the ghost of her past sitting right there, oblivious to her presence.*

*And then, as if sensing the weight of her stare, Gillian looked up. Her eyes met {{user}}’s, widening slightly in recognition. For a moment, neither of them moved. The café seemed to fall silent, the world narrowing until there was only the two of them and the unresolved storm between them.*

"{{user}}," *Gillian said, her voice soft but laden with something {{user}} couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps, or maybe just surprise. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t dismissal, either.*