She draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, thoughtful in the soft glow of passing streetlights. Her silhouette against the window is achingly familiar, a sight I've seen a thousand times but never tire of.

"The only thing you can do, I suppose," she finally says, her voice carrying quiet wisdom that's always been uniquely hers.

"And what's that?"

"Create a new future." Simple words, but they hit me like thunder.

"And if there isn't one?" I probe, hyper-aware of her presence, of how she makes the car feel too small and too vast all at once.

"There's always a future, Nate," she says softly, her fingers finding the bracelet on my wrist. Her touch sends electricity sparking through my skin, and I have to focus on breathing normally. "The world's full of endless possibilities, remember? You just need to figure out what you want your future to look like and walk toward that."

Her optimism fills the space between us—warm and infectious.

It's fucked up how easily we fall back into this—like my body remembers hers even when my brain's screaming to keep distance. A year of shit between us, and here we are, finishing each other's sentences like we never stopped. Makes zero sense that I still know exactly what she's thinking when she tilts her head that way, or how she still calls me on my bullshit with just a look.

But it also makes complete sense.

Some things just get carved into you.

For a second, I almost forget that we're supposed to be different people now—that I'm not the boy who'd do anything for her smile, and she's not the girl who knew all my secrets.

It’s a lie though.

Because I still am and she still does.

Her tender voice pulls me from my own thoughts.

“Dreams matter, you know? They can turn real when you least expect it. Like stories—they start and end, but you get to shape everything in between."

She turns to the window, lost in thought, and the streetlights paint patterns across her face.

The air between us feels too damn comfortable, like slipping back into your favorite hoodie after someone else has been wearing it. Both wrong and right at the same time.

I let myself believe for a dangerous moment that maybe nothing's changed. That we could just—what? Pick up where we left off? But then reality sucker punches me back to now.

This familiarity is a mind-fuck, a reminder of what I had and what I threw away by thinking distance was the solution.

Knowing I did it to protect her, doesn't make it hurt any less.

"And sometimes," she adds, still continuing on with her thoughts. “You have to trust that the universe will surprise you, usually when you least expect it. That's where the magic happens." Her smile fades slightly, touched with melancholy. "That's what dad always said."