Meeting again didn’t erase the past or pretend the years hadn’t happened. We talked openly about where life had taken us, about family, mistakes, and growth. There was no rush, no illusion of rewriting history — only the quiet comfort of understanding. What surprised me most was not that the feelings returned, but that they felt steadier, wiser, grounded in who we had become. The past hadn’t come back to reclaim us; it had come back to teach us something gentle and enduring: that some connections don’t fade with time — they simply wait for the moment when we’re ready to truly see them.
