As one gets older, time seems to slip away remarkably quickly. Although I'd barely seen Jeffrey for years, perhaps even an eternity, he used to be Mr. Handsome to me. The very name evokes a smile at the corners of my lips when I think of him.
It was a bright and hot afternoon as I jogged into my usual routine. The air was laden with the scent of jasmine- sweet and heady- hugging me like the memory of someone I could not quite place. And there he was, Jeffrey, standing a little across the park, frozen in mid-step with the same surprise on his face as mine. My heart tripped.
Seeing him collided me with the past. Even before he made any sound, the memory of his laughter rang in my ear, one of those deep, easy chuckles that used to wipe away all my defiance in seconds. I could picture the mischief and light in his eyes, and all crinkled up at me while he teased me, and our first kiss when I was nineteen, soft and electric, the kind of kiss that has lived in your bones for decades. I could almost feel that kiss even now, the ghost of what could have been humming under my skin.
The tentative smiles were shared, but a weight of unasked questions lay beyond those smiles. Had the passing of time dulled our memories? Yet with every word, every look, it became evident that some things don't fade. Jeffrey had grown into himself. Little maturity added more polish and aura to his charm. I wondered if he felt it too, the hush-hush attraction pulling us back into each other's orbit, just like gravity.
We were talking breathlessly and laughingly, stumbling over years and words. The park around us melted into the golden light, filled with jasmine and the rustle of leaves, until it was just us, suspended in the fragile magic of almost.
As the sun threw itself into the faraway horizon, turning the sky into gold and rose, I longed to cross that chasm. To reacquaint myself with the shape of his hands and the weight of his gaze. The longing twisted even tighter with each beat of my heart.
Finally, when the world was swallowed up by the night, I made my one wish: for a kiss. Not to rewrite history but to remind the both of us that some sparks never really burn out. They've merely smoldered. Waiting. Until a strong breath of wind comes in or until fate graces them back to life.
By now, I knew that some bonds could never break. They merely stop on their way, waiting like the moon, until the universe says: ''Well, let's try this again.''
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