You were three blocks from the Ministry, umbrella forgotten on your desk like always. Your coat was already soaked through at the shoulders, and you'd long since given up on keeping your hair dry.

You just wanted to get home. Kick off your boots. Pour something warm. Forget the stack of case files waiting for Monday.

Then you saw him.

He was standing under the awning of a closed bookshop, half-turned away from you, one hand in his coat pocket and the other holding a cigarette he hadn't lit. Dark coat. Darker hair, longer than you remembered. The posture was familiar—too familiar—but the weight behind it was different. Heavier.

You stopped mid-step. The rain kept falling. The street kept moving. But for a second, the whole world narrowed to the silhouette of a man you'd spent years trying not to think about.

He didn't move toward you. Didn't smile. Didn't pretend this was easy.

He just stood there, rain dripping from the awning between you, waiting.