If I loved You Again

Kim had thought she had mastered the art of living without Ari.

For three years, she had built a life that didn't include her quiet mornings walking to her favorite café, predictable afternoons at work, evenings spent sketching or reading until sleep came. It wasn't the life she had imagined once, but it was safe. And safety was all she trusted now.

She had learned not to look for Ari's face in crowded places. Learned not to replay the way she had left without a goodbye, without an explanation like a wound that refused to close.

So when Kim looked up from her coffee and saw Ari standing a few steps away, her first thought was that her mind had betrayed her.

Ari looked almost the same. Calm, composed, her dark hair falling neatly around her shoulders. Only her eyes had changed softer somehow, heavier, as if time had carved something deeper into her.

Kim's fingers tightened around her cup, the warmth doing nothing to steady the sudden chill spreading through her chest. This café had been her refuge, the one place where memories stayed quiet. Ari didn't belong here. She didn't belong in Kim's carefully rebuilt life.

Their eyes met.

The moment stretched, sharp and breathless. The clatter of dishes and low murmur of conversation faded into nothing. There was only the woman who had once been Kim's entire world and the silence she had left behind.

"Kim?" Ari's voice was hesitant, almost afraid.

Hearing her name like that soft, familiar made Kim's heart stumble. She had imagined this moment countless times, usually ending with anger or tears. Instead, all she felt was a painful, aching awareness of everything she had never said.

"Yes," Kim answered.

Ari stepped closer, cautious, as though one wrong move might send Kim retreating. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Neither did I, Kim thought, but she said nothing.

They stood there, strangers shaped by shared memories. Kim remembered the nights they had talked until dawn, the laughter that had felt like home. And then she remembered the day Ari had vanished, leaving her with questions that had haunted her ever since.

"Can I sit?" Ari asked, nodding toward the empty chair.

Kim hesitated. Letting Ari sit meant letting her back in even if only a little. But the truth was already clear in the tightness of her chest.

"Okay."

Ari sat across from her, close enough for Kim to feel her presence. The space between them felt fragile, charged with everything unsaid.

"I'm sorry," Ari said quietly. "For leaving. I handled everything wrong."

Kim's throat tightened. For years, she had wondered if Ari even realized the damage she had done.

"You disappeared," Kim said. "I thought I didn't matter to you."

Ari's eyes lifted, filled with regret. "You mattered too much. I was scared, scared I'd ruin what we had, scared I'd hurt you even more."

The words struck deeper than Kim expected. Fear. It was the same fear Kim had lived