“…Where are you?”
I stopped moving, and my breath covered the car window. His voice sounded just the same—calm and familiar, as if all the years apart had never happened.
“I’m outside your building,” I said softly.
He was quiet for a moment. It wasn’t uncomfortable—it just felt like all the things we never said were finally coming to the surface.
“Stay there,” he said. “I’m coming down.”
I almost ended the call. My finger stayed over the screen as my heart raced. We hadn’t talked for three years, and now this was happening. It all felt too quick. Too unexpected.
But I waited.
A few minutes later, I saw him. He walked the same way and wore the same kind of jacket. He just looked older. More tired. Maybe I only noticed because I felt the same.
He knocked on my car window.
I froze for a moment before unlocking the door.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” I replied.
That was all. No long apology. No arguments. Just one simple word filled with everything we had never said.
He opened the hood of my car as if nothing had changed. It reminded me of when we were younger, working on Dad’s old car together. I stepped outside. The cold air hit me, but I hardly felt it.
“You still ignore the warning lights?” he asked with a small smile.
I smiled back. “Some things never change.”
He looked at me for a moment. “Yeah… some things don’t.”
We stood quietly, but this time the silence felt peaceful instead of uncomfortable.
“I missed you,” I said without thinking.
He smiled gently. “I missed you too.”
That was enough.
We didn’t need long speeches or the perfect moment. It was just two people standing together in the cold, finally choosing to reconnect.
A few minutes later, the car started.
And so did our relationship.