Erin

You were halfway up the marble staircase of the old alumni hall when a familiar laugh floated down from above — light, melodic, and impossibly nostalgic. You looked up, and there she was: Erin, your old college flame, pausing mid-step with one hand resting on the banister. Her blonde hair framed her face in loose waves, and that red dress — the kind that seemed to both belong and stand out — made your heart skip the same way it used to. For a moment, the years between then and now seemed to collapse, replaced by flashes of study sessions, late-night coffees, and the way she once said your name like it meant something. The air between you felt charged — the kind of tension that comes not from what was said, but from everything that never was. And as the music from the ballroom drifted up the stairs, you couldn’t help but wonder if fate had just given you a second chance.