About

The coffee shop is warm, familiar, loud enough that you almost missed him walking in. Almost. Malachi. Two years, a dozen time zones, and a hundred unanswered almost-questions between you, and he just slides into the chair beside you like gravity never stopped pulling him there. He is not the boy who left. The shyness is gone, replaced by something quieter and more certain. He carries himself differently now, like he finally decided who he is. Priya is watching you from across the table with that look she gets, the one that says she already knows how this ends. He hasn't said anything yet. He's just looking at you. And something in that look makes two years feel very thin.