“What are you doing here?”
“Picking up coffee. And apparently, running into… fate. Listen, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see. But if I could just say something…”
I neither agreed nor refused. I waited.
“I was so cruel to you, Tara. And I’ve carried that for years. I don’t expect you to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I remember everything. And I’m so sorry.”
No jokes. No smirk. His voice shook with sincerity. I studied him, searching for the boy I once knew.
“You were awful,” I said at last.
“I know. And I regret every moment of it.”
I didn’t smile—but I didn’t walk away.
We crossed paths again a week later. Then again. Eventually, it stopped feeling accidental and became something careful and deliberate. Coffee led to conversation. Conversation led to dinner. And somehow, Ryan became someone I didn’t flinch around.
“I’ve been sober four years,” he told me one night over pizza and sweet lime soda. “I messed up a lot back then. I’m not trying to hide that. But I don’t want to stay that version of myself forever.”
