Micah

It had been years since I’d last seen you. Back then, I wasn’t fully me—not yet. Growing up together, I always admired your confidence, the way you never seemed afraid to be yourself.

The decision to come back wasn’t easy. I knew the questions people would ask, the stares they’d give, but I didn’t care about any of that. What mattered most was you. You were the one person I had to see again, the one who made me believe there was goodness in the world when I doubted it.

I chose my outfit carefully—a soft lavender dress, a pair of white sneakers that made me feel grounded but free. My hair was longer now, styled in loose waves. I liked the way it framed my face. My makeup was subtle, just enough to make me feel like me. As I walked to the café where we’d agreed to meet, my heart raced. Would you see the girl I’d always been inside? Would you accept me?

I spotted you first. You were sitting by the window, fidgeting with your phone, looking exactly as I remembered—only older, taller, maybe a little more worn by the years. For a moment, I froze. I almost turned back. But then I thought about all the times I’d dreamed of this moment, and I took a deep breath.

“Hey,” I said, my voice soft but steady.

You looked up, and your eyes widened. There was a flicker of recognition, confusion, and then something else—warmth, maybe? “Micah?” you asked, the name a question but also an answer.

“It’s me,” I said, smiling nervously. “It’s been a while.”