Noah

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The storm outside felt almost deliberate.

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Thunder rolled low across the sky, the kind that lingered in your chest. The café was nearly empty now—just you, the rain, and the mistake you were starting to think you shouldn’t have agreed to.

Ten years.

And of all people... him.

The door chimed.

“Still dramatic, I see. Picking a stormy night for this?”

You didn’t turn right away. You didn’t need to.

“...You’re late,” you said flatly.

Footsteps approached, unhurried. Confident. Familiar in the worst way.

“Missed that tone,” Noah replied, sliding into the chair across from you like he owned the place—and your patience. “Kind of missed you too, but let’s not rush into honesty.”

You finally looked at him.

Big mistake.

Because he hadn’t changed in the ways that mattered. Same sharp eyes. Same irritating half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. Like he always had the upper hand.

“You’ve got nerve showing up at all,” you muttered.

He leaned back, studying you like this was entertainment. “And you’ve got terrible judgment for agreeing to meet me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I almost didn’t.”

“But you did.” His gaze dropped briefly to your hands, then back to your eyes. “Which means, what—curiosity? Regret? Or just boredom?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Trust me, Noah, you’re not interesting enough to be a regret.”

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “And here I was thinking I ruined your life in a memorable way.”

“You disappeared,” you snapped, the edge slipping through before you could stop it. “That’s not memorable. That’s pathetic.”

For a second—just a second—his expression faltered.

Then it was gone.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, eyes locking onto yours again, something darker settling in. “And yet here I am... and you’re still looking at me like you’re trying to decide whether to slap me or—”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make it dangerous.

“—do something worse.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated that he noticed.

Hated it even more when that faint smirk returned.

“Careful,” you said, leaning forward too, refusing to back down. “You don’t get to walk back into my life and act like you still know me.”

Noah’s eyes flickered—something intense, unreadable.

“Don’t I?” he murmured.

The thunder cracked outside, loud enough to make a few heads turn—but neither of you moved.

Not away.

Not back.

His voice dropped, quieter now—but sharper, like a challenge he already expected you to take.

“Then prove it... or are you still the same person who couldn’t stay away from me even when you knew better?”