Reunion

PAIGE 

I can't move. I can't breathe. I can't do anything but stare at him.

He looks just like I remember, but different. More. More man. His face is sharper now, jaw cut from stone. His shoulders wider, filling out that expensive suit like he was made to wear it. Dark hair still falls across his forehead but it's shorter, more controlled. Like him. Like everything about him screams control and power and money.

But his eyes. Those brown eyes are the same. Wide. Shocked. Staring at me like I'm the ghost.

Jesus Christ. 

He looks like a Greek god stepped off some pedestal and walked into this tiny coffee shop. Apollo, maybe. Or Hephaestus—the one who built things, who created beauty from fire. That fits. Haruto always did build things. 

I try to say his name. My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Then he moves.

Two strides and he's right in front of me. So close I can smell his cologne—something expensive and woodsy. So close I can see the tiny scar near his eyebrow he got falling out of a tree when we were twelve.

"Paige." His voice is rough. He says it again, like he's testing it. "Paige. Paige."

Over and over. Like if he says it enough times, I'll become real.

"It's really you?" He reaches out like he wants to touch me, then stops. Like he's scared I'll disappear. "Is it really you?"

"Yes." My voice cracks. "Haruto, it's—"

Then I feel it. Cold. Wet. My feet.

I look down. The cup. The spilled drink. My favorite heels sitting in a puddle of green tea.

"Shit."

He looks down too. The mess spreads between us, ceramic pieces everywhere.

"Your shoes," he says.

"My heels." I wiggle my toes. They're soaked. "They're wet."

He crouches down, looking at my feet like it matters. Like the world isn't spinning. "That's going to be painful to walk in."

"I know." I bend down and slip them off. The cold floor hits my bare feet.

He straightens up. "You want to walk barefoot?"

"I might."

He starts to say something—probably to protest, to tell me I can't walk around New York City with no shoes—when Mrs. Chen appears with a towel.

"Here." She kneels down and starts wiping the floor. "I'll clean this. Your shoes, child." She holds out her hand. I give them to her. "I'll dry them in the back. But not free."

Before I can answer, Haruto speaks. "I'll cover it. Whatever she needs."

I shake my head. "No, I can pay. It's my mess."

"I insisted." His voice leaves no room for argument. He looks at me. "Sit down. Please. I'll order you another drink. Your usual?"

He remembers. After six years, he remembers my usual.

I just nod. I can't speak.

He turns to Mrs. Chen. "Her usual. Green tea latte, extra foam, honey. And I'll have black coffee. Black."

Mrs. Chen looks between us, those sharp eyes missing nothing. She takes my shoes and heads to the back, but pauses. Looks at Haruto. "You're a fine gentleman."

Haruto doesn't answer. He's too busy staring at me again.

I stand there in my bare feet, feeling the cold floor, feeling the weight of his gaze. Six years. Six years of nothing. And now he's here. In front of me. Ordering my coffee like no time passed at all.

My heart won't stop pounding.

He gestures to my usual table by the window. "Sit. Please."

I sit. He sits across from me. The couple with the dessert is watching us now. The old man in the corner doesn't look up from his book.

Haruto leans forward, elbows on the table. His eyes roam my face like he's memorizing it.

"I can't believe it's you," he whispers.

I can't believe it either.

Was this fate? Was this the luck Sadie talked about? Her words echo in my head: I have a feeling your life is about to get very interesting.

She didn't know the half of it.

I look at Haruto—this man, this stranger, this boy I used to love—and I have no idea what to say.

So I say nothing.

I just sit here in my bare feet and wait.

Mrs. Chen brings our drinks. My heels, dried and clean, sit next to me. I put them on because I have to face him like an adult, not some barefoot girl who can't handle her coffee.

Haruto wraps his hands around his black coffee. Doesn't drink it. Just holds it. Stares at me.

"How are you?" he asks. "Really. How have you been?"

I'm fine. That's what I should say. That's what normal people say.

"I'm fine." The words come out automatic. 

I don't tell him about the six years of waiting. 

I don't tell him I flew across the world to find him. 

I don't tell him I check faces in crowds hoping to see his. 

I just sit here and lie.

He runs a hand through his hair. That old habit. He used to do that when he was nervous.

"Paige, I need to apologize." His voice is thick. "I tried. I tried to reach you. After my parents divorced, everything happened so fast. The court, my dad getting custody, the move—it was chaos. I wanted to call. I wanted to explain."

I sip my latte. It's perfect. Extra foam. Honey. Like he remembered.

"A year ago," he continues, "I went back to Tokyo. To your mom's house. She said you left for the United States. I tried to find you. I didn't even know where to start."

I set my cup down. "I came here for school." The truth, but not all of it. "Columbia. I studied there. Then I just... stayed."

I don't tell him I chose Columbia because it's in New York. Because he was here. Somewhere.

He nods slowly. "I wanted to explain everything back then. But it was happening so fast. The divorce, the lawyers, my dad dragging me here. I didn't get a proper goodbye. I just told you to wait and—"

"I waited." The words come out sharper than I meant. I soften my voice. "I waited, Haruto. And I'm happy to see you now. That's what matters."

He looks at me like I just gave him something precious.

I was his girlfriend. Even if it was only for two weeks before he left. Two weeks of holding hands and stolen kisses and believing he was my forever. I loved him. Six years later, standing in front of him, I still love him. That's the part that scares me.

We talk. Hours pass. He tells me about MIT, dropping out, starting Shinsei Technologies. I tell him about Columbia, my job at NovaCore, my friendship with Sadie. We dance around the big things—the pain, the silence, the why. But it's easy. Like old times. Like no time passed at all.

I check my phone. 8:53 PM.

"I should go," I say. "It's late."

"I'll drive you." He stands immediately. "Please. Let me."

I nod. We say goodnight to Mrs. Chen. She gives me a look that says we'll talk about this later.

His car is nice. Of course it's nice. He's a billionaire now. The drive is short—too short. I give him my address. He types it in his GPS.

"You're in the East Village," he says.

"Yeah. You?"

"Tribeca. Penthouse." He pauses. "We're only a few blocks apart."

The universe has a sick sense of humor. Six years apart and now we're neighbors.

He pulls up to my building. The engine idles. Silence fills the car.

I should get out. My hand is on the door handle. But I can't move.

He's still my boyfriend. Technically. We never broke up. He just left and I just waited and now—

"Paige." His voice is soft.

I turn. He's closer than I expected.

This is the moment. The one where I decide. Kiss him? Hug him? Wave like an idiot and run?

I go for hug. Stiff. Awkward. My arms around his neck, his around my waist. He smells like that cologne and something else—something that's just him.

We pull apart too fast.

"I'll call you," he says. "We exchanged numbers, right?"

"Yeah. We did."

"Good. I'll call."

I nod. Get out of the car. Walk to my building. Don't look back.

But I want to. God, I want to.

I make it inside, lean against the door, and finally breathe.

Sadie was right. My life just got very, very interesting.