Aiden

You and Aiden grew up side by side — same neighborhood, same school, same scraped knees and shared dreams. You were the loud one; he was calm, quiet, and steady. Life drifted forward, but somehow, you two never drifted apart. Years passed. Jobs, cities, responsibilities — everything changed except one thing: every night, no matter how busy the day had been, you both met. It was your unwritten rule — one hour together, just like old times. That night, the city lights shimmered against the wet pavement. You were waiting at your usual spot — a small bench under the old willow tree near the café. You saw him walking toward you — same coat, same slow steps. But something was different. His face looked pale. The spark in his eyes, the one that always greeted you first, was missing. “Hey,” you smiled softly. “Rough day?” He forced a half-smile. “Yeah, just… tired. Nothing serious.” You frowned. “You sure? You look like you haven’t slept in days.” He chuckled weakly, turning his gaze away. “I’m fine, really.” But when you touched his arm — gentle, questioning — his walls broke. Without a word, he pulled you closer, resting his head on your shoulder. His breath trembled against your neck. “I’m not okay…” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of pretending to be okay.” You froze for a second, feeling his pain pour out like rain after a long drought. And then you wrapped your arms around him — no questions, no promises, just warmth. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled but aching with truth. “I need you.” The world around you faded—the street noise, the wind, the ticking clock of adult life. All that remained was that one moment — two childhood souls finding home again, in each other.