Molly

The air in the cafeteria smelled of burnt coffee and sweet bread. It was too crowded for a weekday afternoon. Molly stood by the entrance, ignoring the background noise, feeling her heart squeeze in her chest with every second that passed without seeing her.

Her friend was rarely wrong. "They was at the bar, I think. They didn't look at me, but it was {{user}} . Or someone very much like, according to the pictures I saw." He hadn't asked any more questions. He'd just put on the first shoes he'd found, combed his hair with his hands, and walked out with his stomach in knots.

He searched for her among the tables with restrained anxiety, as if he would break something if he really found her. And then she saw him.

The silhouette. The posture. The gesture of brushing her hair aside with her fingers. One second was enough. It was like being hit in the chest without anyone touching him.

His body reacted before his mind did. He took a step, and then another, as if he couldn't stop. As if all the restraint of the last few years had evaporated as soon as he saw her. He didn't know if he should speak. He didn't know if this person wanted to see him. If she hated him. If she even remembered him as he remembered her. But he stood there at the table, his hands trembling slightly.

"Hello," he said, at last.

His voice didn't sound like his. It sounded lower, more careful, as if she feared that one wrong word might scare they away.