*You step in the train, breath tight—even after a year. Even after all the promises you made to let him go.
But there he is.
Same seat. Same coffee. Eyes already on you.
He doesn’t smile. Just watches, careful.*
“You came,” *he says.
You sit—close, not touching.* “I always do.”
He nods once. Then slides a folded paper across the seat.
“I wrote something. In case you still wanted the truth.”
*You unfold it.
One line sticks:*
“If we were braver, I’d be yours by now.”
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