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The station wasn’t even really a station. Just a platform beside the road with a faded map and a dented bench that creaked when you sat on it. But that was where she was leaving from, just like that, and fifteen-year-old Mydei couldn’t seem to stop shaking.
He stood with his arms wrapped tight around himself, trying to stay tall, trying not to cry. Castorice had never been good at goodbyes, and she wasn’t good at this one either. Her hands kept twisting in the hem of her hoodie, and she kept blinking like maybe if she did it fast enough, she wouldn’t cry either.
“Mydei,” she said softly, voice just barely steady. “I...I don’t want to go either, you know.”
“But you are,” he said, too sharply. “You are going.”
Castorice flinched. Her mom called from the car, something about the traffic picking up, but Castorice didn’t move. Mydei took a half-step closer, his throat tightening.
“What if you forget?” he whispered. “What if you forget me?”
She looked at him then, really looked, and her lilac eyes shimmered in the light. “I won’t,” she said, so quietly it sounded like a prayer. “I couldn’t. You’re…you’re my best friend.”
Mydei nodded too fast. He wanted to say more, he wanted to tell her that he’d thought about kissing her that night they watched the fireworks by the lake, that he’d drawn a little heart around her name on the side of his notebook. That she was the only person who made him laugh until he fell over. But his chest was too tight, and the words all backed up in his throat like traffic on the highway.
Instead, he blurted, “One day, we’ll meet again. You’ll see.”
She smiled, but it wobbled. “Yeah. One day.”
As she turned, he panicked. The car door was open, she was getting in, she was really going.
“Castorice!” he shouted.
She froze, half-in the car, turning to look back at him.
“We’ll be together again someday!” he yelled. “Okay? No matter what.”
She didn’t answer with words, but she nodded, and then she was gone. The car pulled away, the cicadas droned louder than ever, and Mydei stood alone on the cracked platform, the sea breeze catching the edge of his hoodie, eyes wet and blinking too fast.
He didn’t know yet that it would be ten years.
But he’d meant every word.
XxxOxOxOxxX
10 years later, Okhema
The alarm buzzed at 7:15.
Mydei groaned and let his hand flop against the snooze button with all the precision of a drowned cat. The sun slipped through his curtains in narrow shafts, golden and too cheerful. He sat up, ruffled locks falling over his forehead, and stared blankly at the wall across from his bed like it might give him a reason to stay horizontal.
It did not.
A few seconds later, his phone buzzed, and a notification for his group chat with Phainon and Stelle popped up on his screen.
Phainon: we’re getting brunch.
Phainon: ur coming
Phainon: stelle says if u don’t show she’s going to drag u out by your ankles
Stelle: i absolutely will.
Stelle: and i’ll wear rings so it’ll hurt. 🖤
Mydei snorted as he sleepily sent a reply.
Mydei: you guys harass me before coffee and expect friendship in return
Phainon replied instantly:
Phainon: love is war
They met at a café on the east side, all exposed brick and overgrown pothos vines. Mydei shuffled in with sleep still clinging to his skin and a hoodie too big for the season. Phainon had staked out their usual booth, long legs stretched beneath the table, sipping something dark and dangerous from a ceramic mug. Stelle was halfway through a cinnamon roll and already grinning at him with dangerous intent.
“Look who survived the cursed realm of bed,” Phainon said dryly.
“Barely,” Mydei muttered, sliding into the booth and blinking toward the sun-lit window.
“You look like someone who was just told naps were illegal,” Stelle said, licking icing from her thumb. “I could fix that with caffeine. Or violence.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Mydei said, deadpan.
Phainon raised his brows. “He’s definitely awake now.”
Their banter was effortless, the kind of rhythm that only came from years of shared experiences and too many inside jokes. Mydei sipped at the latte Stelle shoved toward him and tried not to smile, though he failed miserably.
“So what’s the occasion?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at their setup. “You two just craving eggs with a side of public bullying?”
“Partly,” Phainon said. “Also, opening night tonight for Kallos Gallery. Local artists and some traveling work. It’s supposed to be good.”
“Free wine,” Stelle added. “Also, you need to get out more.”
“I do get out.”
“Riding your bike to the gym doesn’t count,” Phainon said. “Neither does work. Or moody walks in the rain like some indie film protagonist.”
Mydei groaned. “Why do I hang out with you?”
“Because you love us,” they said in sync.
He rolled his eyes, but the smile stuck around this time. “Alright, alright. I’ll go.”
“Excellent,” Phainon said. “We leave at eight. Wear something tragic and artsy.”
“I always do.”
XxxOxOxOxxX
The sun was low when Mydei got back to his apartment, casting long amber shadows across the hardwood floor. He toed off his shoes and tossed his hoodie onto the couch. The silence was companionable, familiar, if not a little hollow. He didn’t turn on music, just wandered to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and leaned against the counter, watching the slow spin of dust motes in the sunlight.
It had been years since he’d last thought about her, at least consciously.
He never spoke her name aloud anymore. Not for the past couple of years.
Still, sometimes he caught himself sketching the shape of her laugh in the back of his mind, or noticing something and thinking, She would’ve liked this, before he could stop himself.
Tonight felt heavier than it should. He chalked it up to the quiet, too much space between the conversation at brunch and the gallery visit ahead.
Eventually, he drifted to the shelf in the corner. The one with the old boxes he rarely touched. One was marked in messy ink, C + M. The edges were worn, the cardboard soft from age. Mydei hesitated but then opened it.
Inside were pieces of a life paused.
Polaroids, most of them blurry or crooked. A pink friendship bracelet with fraying thread. Ticket stubs from a summer carnival. And tucked into the bottom, a folded piece of notebook paper, yellowed with time.
He unfolded it carefully.
You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Mydei.
Don’t forget me, okay? Promise?
One day, we’ll meet again. And when we do, we’ll have stories to tell.
-Cassie
His throat tightened.
He had told himself over the years that he was being dramatic. That they were kids, and it had been sweet, but fleeting. Life had a way of untangling those promises, stretching them out until they faded.
But the ache in his chest never really left.
“Wonder where you are now,” he murmured to the quiet. “Wonder if you remember.”
The clock ticked, and he packed the box gently, folded the note again with more reverence than he knew what to do with.
Then he grabbed his jacket and headed out.
XxxOxOxOxxX
The gallery was a series of converted industrial lofts, all exposed brick, glass panes, and the low hum of ambient music echoing softly through the vaulted ceilings. Guests wandered with half-filled wine glasses, murmuring appreciations for strokes of oil, slices of light, splashes of conceptual flair.
Mydei had seen his fair share of exhibits thanks to Phainon’s occasionally avant-garde taste in culture, but tonight he kept to himself, weaving through the rooms with easy charm and distracted eyes.
“You look like you’ve already mentally checked out,” Phainon said beside him, sipping from a plastic cup of white wine.
“Because I have.”
Stelle snorted. “You agreed to this.”
“I agreed to brunch,” Mydei muttered. “This was the trap.”
They were standing in front of a monochrome portrait of someone mid-laugh, real, unposed, raw joy caught in grayscale. Below it, a small plaque read:
“Fleeting / Ongoing”
Photographer: C.R.
He tilted his head, something pulling at him.
“I like it,” he said, softly.
“Her work’s getting big,” Stelle said, folding her arms. “She’s only here for a few weeks. Traveling contract. I heard she’s been everywhere; Sudan, the Andes, Greece, Japan.”
Mydei’s stomach gave a strange twist; something flickered. A memory, a ghost.
One day, we’ll have stories to tell.
Phainon was already distracted by another artist’s installation, but Mydei stepped forward, drawn inexplicably toward the next corridor. The crowd thinned slightly, the murmur softened, and for a second, it felt like the gallery itself held its breath.
That’s when he saw her.
She was standing near a display table, camera slung casually over one shoulder, clipboard in hand, talking to a curator. She laughed at something, a short, melodic thing, and looked up.
She was older now, taller. Her hair was different, longer, with streaks of sun, city dust, maybe sea salt from some Greek beach. But the moment he saw her eyes, something in him collapsed.
He stopped breathing, and his feet moved before he told them to.
She turned, maybe sensing the stare, and her face softened. Confused, curious, like she was seeing a ghost, something she never thought she’d see again. Then something, just something, caught in her expression like recognition brushing the edge of her heart.
They stared.
He almost said her name, but his voice failed.
Instead, he stepped forward slowly. “Cas…Castorice?”
She blinked. “Yes?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it for a moment.
“…It’s me. Mydei.”
Silence dropped like velvet around them.
Her eyes went wide, her breath caught, and then he thought he saw fireworks in her irises.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, hand flying to her mouth.
“I told you,” he said, voice raw and low, “we’d meet again.”
Her clipboard hit the table, and she ran to him.
She didn’t even hesitate; she threw her arms around his shoulders like she’d been waiting a decade to do just that. He caught her mid-spin, laughing, crying, he wasn’t sure which of them was which. The crowd blurred, the gallery fell away.
“I thought…” she began, pulling back just enough to search his face. “I thought maybe I’d never-”
He kissed her temple. “I waited.”
“You remembered me.”
“I never stopped.”
And the camera, hanging forgotten by her hip, caught the light as it swung gently, lens turned down, not needed anymore. Because for the first time in ten years, she didn’t have to capture the moment.
She was in it.
“I’m not hallucinating, right?” Phainon said as he and Stelle stepped closer, brows raised, eyes flicking between Mydei and the woman still very much in his arms.
Mydei blinked as if waking from a trance, reluctantly letting Castorice slip back to the ground. She straightened herself with a small, sheepish laugh, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were flushed.
“Uh,” Mydei said, clearing his throat. “Right. Sorry. Everyone, this is Castorice.”
Stelle tilted her head, intrigued. “The Castorice?”
Phainon raised an eyebrow. “As in the Castorice who took that award-winning photo? The one with the kid and the protest banners?”
Castorice laughed again, more self-conscious this time. “I guess I’ve picked up a bit of a résumé while I was gone.”
Phainon gave a low whistle. “Impressive. He talks about you, you know.”
“Phainon-” Mydei warned.
“Endearingly. Constantly,” Phainon continued, smirking.
Castorice turned to Mydei with a teasing smile. “Is that so?”
“It’s…exaggerated,” he muttered, glaring at his best friend.
Stelle leaned forward to Castorice. “For the record, we were all half-convinced you were a figment of his imagination.”
“He does have very main-character flashback energy,” Castorice deadpanned.
“Okay,” Mydei said, raising his hands. “Moving on. I know this is your night and I’d rather not bother you, but Castorice, would you maybe…want to meet again? Tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she said. “Coffee?”
“Coffee.”
XxxOxOxOxxX
The coffee shop was tucked between a used bookstore and a florist, the kind of place that hadn’t changed its chairs in years and wore the scent of cinnamon and espresso like a second skin.
They sat across from each other in a corner booth, paper cups steaming between them, the light filtering in soft and golden through rain-smudged windows.
“You still take it with too much sugar,” she said with a smile, watching him stir.
“And you still judge me for it,” he replied, grinning back.
“It’s less judgment. More…observational science.”
They both laughed, but the air between them never quite stopped buzzing. A decade may have passed, but something – that something – still lingered beneath the surface. Familiarity folded over novelty like the pages of a beloved book long left on a shelf.
“So,” she asked, cradling her coffee. “What have you been doing all this time?”
“School, mostly. And then work. Castrum projects. Phainon got me into urban development somehow. My office has a view of the least interesting street in the city.”
“And the friends?”
“They're chaotic. But good,” he said. “They pulled me out of my sulking when you left.”
Her smile faltered just a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t write. I wanted to. I just…kept moving. And I didn’t want to know if you’d moved on.”
“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “Not really.”
The air between them shifted; not heavier, exactly, but deeper. She blinked, looking down at her coffee as if it might offer escape.
“I used to wonder,” she said, “if I’d made you up. If we’d really meant that much to each other, or if we were just kids clinging to something sweet.”
He leaned forward slightly. “We were kids. And it was sweet. But it was real.”
The silence that followed was heavy, a pause brimming with things unsaid.
Then Castorice stood, smoothing her jacket. “Walk with me?”
He followed without hesitation.
They wandered the streets slowly, as if neither wanted the day to end. They passed the old library where she used to drag him, a tiny park now overgrown with wildflowers, a mural they’d once painted handprints on that had since faded under layers of time and graffiti.
Everything had changed. And somehow…not at all.
At one point, she stopped walking, turned to face him, and asked, “Do you think we’re strangers now?”
He looked at her for a long beat.
“No,” he said. “I think we’re a story with a long pause in the middle.”
XxxOxOxOxxX
“I can’t believe this street still exists,” Castorice said, stepping onto the cracked sidewalk that once carried two kids home from school every day.
“Yeah,” Mydei replied, brushing a branch aside. “Looks smaller now.”
They turned a corner and walked beneath an overpass, their shoes kicking up the familiar crunch of gravel. For a moment, silence reigned, but not uncomfortably. It was a shared quiet, like muscle memory settling into place.
“Remember the dog with one eye that used to bark at us from the yellow house?” she said.
“Cyclops.” Mydei grinned. “Aptly named. I still flinch walking past that fence.”
Castorice laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “You used to pretend you weren’t scared, but you always made me walk on the inside.”
“Chivalry,” he shrugged. “Also, you had faster reflexes.”
They turned again, walking instinctively, like their bodies remembered what their minds didn’t.
“Wait,” Castorice said, stopping in her tracks. “Here. This is it.”
They stood in front of a crooked oak tree, roots curling from the ground like sleeping serpents. Beneath it, behind a loose patch of ivy, sat the moss-darkened stone they had once used to mark a very important hiding place.
“No way,” Mydei murmured. “We never came back for it.”
Their childhood time capsule.
They knelt, brushing back ivy and soil. Castorice pried the stone up with her fingers. Beneath it sat the rusted tin lunchbox they’d buried more than a decade ago. It was dented, half-eaten by time, but intact.
They exchanged a look, and then she opened it.
Inside, they found a pack of worn stickers, a folded comic page, a plastic ring pop wrapper…and one slightly faded polaroid. Two grinning children, mud-splattered and victorious. Him with his arm slung around her shoulder, her flashing bunny ears behind his head.
She stared at it, eyes softening.
“You kept the copy of this?” Mydei asked.
“I…yeah. It was always in my wallet,” she replied, voice quiet. “It got me through some lonely places.”
He reached for the photo, and she let him hold it.
“You look the same,” he said, voice a little strained.
“You look taller,” she replied, then added, “...and softer.”
They sat in silence, cross-legged beneath the tree.
“You know what this feels like?” she said, glancing over at him.
“If you say a rom-com, I’m going home.”
She smirked. “No. Like the part in a movie where the leads stumble on their shared past and it plays in soft focus behind them.”
Mydei dropped his head back dramatically and intoned, “In a world where memory lingers like the scent of summer grass…”
She laughed, covering her mouth. “That was terrible.”
“Your turn, then.”
She straightened up, placed the photo on her knee, and mimicked a solemn movie trailer voice. “Two kids. One broken promise. Ten years. One last chance.”
They cracked up together, laughter folding over into something quieter, something close.
“I missed this,” he said, suddenly.
Her smile faded, just a little. “I did too.”
“I wrote you, you know,” he said.
She turned to look at him.
“A month after you left,” he continued. “I poured everything into it. I told you about the mural we finished, the old vending machine behind the library finally getting replaced. And I told you…” His voice faltered.
“Told me what?”
“That I hated that you were gone. But I was glad you were chasing something big. And I said…I’d wait. For a while. Maybe forever.”
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath, “I never got it,” she whispered. “But I wrote you too. Maybe a year later. I told you I thought I’d dreamed you.”
His gaze snapped to hers.
“I waited for your reply,” she added, voice breaking. “I thought you’d moved on.”
He shook his head, stunned. “I never got it either.”
“Maybe the universe was saving it for now,” she said.
They sat there, hearts exposed in the half-light, broken pieces finally sliding back into place. Slowly, his hand reached for hers, and she didn’t hesitate.
Their fingers laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
XxxOxOxOxxX
Phainon slid the wine bottle into the ice bucket with a flourish. “So. You’re going to make us ask, huh?”
Mydei looked over his mug. “Ask what?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Stelle said, kicking her socked feet up onto Phainon’s lap. “We want the gossip. Castorice. You. Reunited. She’s gorgeous. You’re glowing. Start talking.”
Phainon leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Yeah. We saw you two doing that soft-focus indie film gaze at the gallery. Did you walk into each other in slow motion?”
“No,” Mydei muttered. “She ran to me. I almost spilled my drink.”
“A meet-cute through chaos,” Stelle said, raising her glass. “Classic.”
Phainon raised an eyebrow. “How are you still single, again?”
“I’m starting to remember,” Mydei deadpanned.
Stelle laughed. “Come on, you two were joined at the hip as kids. Tell us what happened!”
Mydei hesitated, spinning his mug slightly. “…She left. I stayed. That was the story, for a long time.”
“But not anymore,” Phainon said gently.
He shook his head. “We’ve met again, yeah. And it’s surreal. I keep thinking she’s going to vanish again. But she’s here. She's still…her.”
“That’s how you know,” Stelle said softly, her teasing fading. “If she still feels like home after all that time.”
Phainon refilled Mydei’s glass. “Do you want it to go somewhere?”
Mydei hesitated just a beat too long. “I don’t know.”
“Liar,” Phainon and Stelle said in perfect unison.
He groaned, face in his hands. “Fine! Yes. I want it to go somewhere. But I have no idea how to say that to her without sounding like a lovesick fool.”
“Buddy,” Phainon said, leaning back smugly. “You are a lovesick fool.”
“Own it,” Stelle added. “We did. And now we’re disgustingly happy. You should try it.”
Mydei chuckled, shaking his head. “You two are a menace.”
“And yet,” Phainon said, raising his glass, “you keep showing up.”
“To childhood love,” Stelle declared. “And second chances.”
Their glasses clinked, and Mydei, smiling behind the rim of his wine glass, wasn’t sure if his heart had ever felt this light before.
XxxOxOxOxxX
They laid out an old blanket between roots and wild grass, the same kind of patchy quilt Castorice always brought back then. It smelled faintly of old sunshine and cedar.
Mydei sat beside her, legs stretched out, hands braced behind him in the grass. She sat with knees drawn up, arms looped around them, chin on her knees as she looked out toward the horizon.
Everything about the moment felt suspended, like the air was holding its breath too.
“We used to come up here after school,” Castorice murmured. “Lie on the ground and pretend we had it all figured out.”
“Yeah,” Mydei said with a faint smile. “You used to call this place our ‘headquarters.’ Like we were spies on some top secret mission.”
“Weren’t we?” she teased.
He chuckled. “I still have the fake codebook you wrote in fifth grade. You spelled 'espionage' wrong.”
Her laugh was soft, and it faded slowly. “It feels the same, doesn’t it? And not at all.”
They fell into silence again. Then, as if pulled by invisible threads from the past, Castorice looked up, “If this were a movie…”
Mydei turned his head. She was smiling a little, wistful and knowing.
“…the boy would say something dramatic,” she continued, “like ‘I never stopped loving you.’ And the girl would pretend not to hear, just to make him say it again.”
Mydei swallowed. “And the boy would probably be sitting there…wishing he’d said it ten years earlier.”
Castorice looked over, and her eyes met his.
He breathed in, then let it out. “If this were a movie, I would’ve given you the letter I wrote before you left. I would’ve run through the terminal like an idiot, yelling your name.”
She blinked, her voice soft, as if afraid she’d shatter a delicate balance. “You…wrote me a letter? Before I left?”
“I did,” he said. “Pages of it. But I didn’t send it. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same, and then when you were gone…I don’t know, it felt too late.”
She was quiet for a long time, but then she reached into her coat pocket and pulled something small, folded, worn at the corners.
“I wrote too,” she said. “Kept a copy and mailed the original to your dorm during my third year away. I kept waiting for a reply.” Her voice broke into a small laugh. “Eventually I convinced myself it got lost, or maybe you just didn’t care.”
Mydei stared at the copy of the letter in her hand, then back at her. “I never got it.”
The wind moved between them like an invisible third party.
Castorice looked away. “I guess we were just a few heartbeats off.”
Mydei shifted closer. “We’re here now.”
“Yeah,” she said, trying for a smile. “But I’m still leaving in ten days.”
“I know.” His voice was quieter now. “But if this were a movie…the boy wouldn’t care about the logistics. He’d just say what he should’ve said all those years ago.”
Castorice looked at him again, and he held her gaze resolutely.
“I missed you every day. I tried to forget sometimes, and I couldn’t. You were everywhere. Every time I laughed, every time I wished someone was beside me…it was you.”
Her eyes glistened. “Mydei…”
He gave a tiny shake of his head. “I’m not asking for anything you can’t give. I just want you to know, if this were a movie, this would be the part where I finally say it out loud.”
“And what would you say?” she whispered.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips lingered against her cheek.
“I am in love with you,” he said, soft and certain. “I always have been. Even when we were kids and didn’t have the words yet.”
Tears spilled over her lashes. “I was so scared you’d changed.”
“I did,” he said. “But not in the ways that matter.”
They leaned in at the same time, like two magnets pulled together. Their foreheads touched first. Then her hand slid to his chest, right over his heart. And when they kissed, it wasn’t the movie kind with sweeping music and fireworks; it was the quiet kind. Gentle, deep, and trembling with all the words they hadn’t said; the kind that asked for permission rather than demanded. It tasted of longing, of quiet years lost, and the fragile ache of what might still be.
Castorice's hands moved slowly, one curling into the front of Mydei’s coat, the other threading into his hair as if grounding herself in the certainty of him. Mydei’s arms came around her waist, pulling her closer with a trembling exhale, like he had just found something he thought he’d never see again.
When they parted, it was barely a breath between them.
“I thought I’d never get this moment,” she whispered, her forehead still pressed to his. “I kept telling myself you probably moved on. I almost didn’t come to the gallery.”
Mydei gave a broken laugh, his thumb brushing the tear trailing down her cheek. “I’ve waited for you in every art exhibit, in every late train ride, in every damn coffee shop that smelled like that place by our old school. You think I could move on from you?”
She smiled, fragile but radiant. “You still make everything sound like a love story.”
“That’s because it is,” he said, kissing her brow, her cheek, the tip of her nose; small, reverent touches that filled in the years they'd missed. “Every chapter, every page. Even the lonely ones. You were always the main character.”
She tilted her head, looking at him as if seeing the boy she once loved, and the man she never stopped loving, all at once. “Mydei…”
“Say it’s not too late,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tell me we can still write the rest.”
Castorice bit her lip, something bright flickering in her eyes. “You remember the old tree? The one we carved our names into?”
He nodded.
“I went there. Before I came to the gallery,” she murmured. “I needed to see if anything still felt the same.”
“And?” he asked, holding his breath.
“I stood there and thought…if this were a movie, the girl would finally stop running.” She reached into her bag and pulled out her camera, but attached to the strap was a familiar polaroid, worn and curled at the edges. It was the one they took as kids, blurry and off-center, their arms flung around each other, laughing like the world was made just for them.
“I kept it with me through every country, every flight. Every time I looked at it, I thought about what it would be like to find you again.” She paused, then smiled. “I’m not leaving.”
Mydei blinked. “You’re…staying?”
“I took a job here,” she said, her fingers tracing the edge of the photo. “Not forever, maybe. But long enough to see what this could be. Long enough to stop wondering.”
A silence settled between them, full of everything they hadn’t dared to hope for.
Then Mydei leaned in again, this time slower, his palm resting against her cheek as their lips met once more; deeper, firmer, threaded with the promise of a second chance. The world around them fell away. The past hurt, but it didn’t matter now. Not when she was here, not when he was holding her, not when she was holding him back just as tightly.
When they finally broke apart, cheeks flushed, hands still linked in each other’s coats, he whispered, “If this were a movie…”
She grinned softly, eyes still teary. “It’d fade to black with a kiss.”
Mydei laughed, brushing his nose against hers. “No. If this were a movie…”
He tucked her against his chest, holding her close as the wind stirred around them, warm and golden with late spring.
“…it’d say ‘To be continued.’”
The End (To be continued <3)