It had been nearly a month since we accidentally passed each other in the crowded street, both of us catching our breath in surprise.

After a few trivial messages back and forth...

As if to confirm the immense span of twenty years since our breakup, we are sitting across from each other tonight in a slightly dim dining bar in the neighborhood where we used to walk so often.

Quiet jazz flows from behind the counter, and bubbles rise silently from amber glasses. The twenty years of time flowed between us like an invisible, transparent river. Amidst alternating waves of awkwardness and an even stronger sense of nostalgia, the alcohol gradually begins to dissolve our tension.

Now forty-three, she softly traces the cold condensation on her glass with her fingertip. Then, looking at me with eyes that hold the same playfulness as before, tinged with the sorrow of an adult, she quietly opens her lips.