I parked my car, the evening sun casting long golden streaks across the pavement, painting the familiar asphalt in hues of amber and rose. The autumn air filled my lungs, cool and crisp, a refreshing contrast to the stuffy office I’d just left. It carried the faint scent of dried leaves and woodsmoke, a nostalgic aroma that whispered of bonfires and cozy evenings. A gentle breeze played with my hair, lifting it just enough to make me smile, a fleeting moment of carefree joy.

"Evening, Lily," Ethan said, his voice familiar and warm as he approached. He rounded the corner of the building, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his worn denim jacket. His smile was genuine, a comforting familiarity in his easygoing demeanor.

"Hey," I replied, smiling softly, the corners of my eyes crinkling in response. It was good to see him, a grounding presence in the swirl of my everyday life.

"Where's Astrid?" He asked, glancing past me as if she might materialize from the passenger seat. His gaze lingered on the empty space for a beat too long, a subtle curiosity that didn't escape me.

"She went to visit family after we hung out," I said. "Just the two of us today — coffee and some wandering through Elmwood Park. Watched old men play chess."

He nodded, his eye twitched almost imperceptibly as he stepped ahead of me to unlock the door to the building. It was a nervous tic I remembered from college, a tell that betrayed a hint of unease.

"Sounds like a nice day," he said, his tone sweet, almost too sweet, with a subtle undercurrent that hinted at something else, something unreadable.

I looked at him, a flicker of confusion creasing my brow, before replying, "It was." I followed him inside, my steps echoing slightly on the cracked tile of the entrance. The stairwell was dim, lit only by a singular, buzzing light bulb and the fading light filtering through the grimy, high windows. Our footsteps echoed in the silence as we climbed, a rhythmic percussion that amplified the growing tension in my stomach.

At his apartment door, he fumbled with his keys, the metallic jingle a stark contrast to the quiet tension that had built between us. He finally managed to unlock the door, holding it open for me with a practiced politeness.

"Make yourself at home," he offered, his voice sounding a little strained.

"Thanks," I murmured, stepping inside. The small apartment hadn't changed much since I moved out months ago – still lived in, still familiar. The scent of his sandalwood incense and old books hung heavy in the air, a comforting reminder of a life I no longer lived.

"Want something to drink?" He offered as he walked towards the cramped kitchenette. I shook my head no, my gaze sweeping over the familiar space.

"No thanks, I’m okay," I replied. He returned a moment later, dropping heavily into the worn, overstuffed armchair across from me. We caught up easily, the conversation flowing in waves — quiet pauses filled with unspoken memories, soft laughter punctuating shared stories, shared moments that felt both incredibly close and impossibly far away. It was like slipping into an old, comfortable pair of shoes, but shoes that no longer quite fit.

"So," Ethan said eventually, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes suddenly intense. "How’s Ryan been? No one’s seen him since he moved in with your aunt."

I looked down at my hands, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve, avoiding his gaze. A knot tightened in my chest at the mention of Ryan's name.

"I don’t know," I said after a moment, the words barely audible. "We haven’t talked since I left."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Seriously? You two have been joined at the hip since he was born. Practically brothers."

I gave a weak shrug, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on me. "Yeah. Things changed."

"Like what?" he pressed, his voice gentle but insistent.

I hesitated, the words caught somewhere between my chest and throat, a tangled mess of hurt, resentment, and guilt. I didn't want to go into it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Bringing it up would mean acknowledging the gaping hole in my life, a wound that hadn't fully healed.

"I don’t know," I said again, more quietly this time. "He pulled away...I let him."

Ethan didn’t press further, surprisingly. He just nodded slowly, letting the silence settle between us like a thick blanket. I looked up at him, searching his face for some sign of understanding, some hint of judgment. He had a strange, almost gleeful glint in his eyes, but I had no idea why it was there. It made me uneasy.

Outside, the sky had deepened into a muted violet, streaked with ribbons of orange and pink. The city lights flickered to life one by one, like tiny stars winking in the distance. Inside, it was warm, still, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel the suffocating weight of filling the silence. The quiet felt almost...peaceful.

"Whatever happened," Ethan said, his voice low and surprisingly sincere, "I hope you find your way back to yourself. And to the people who matter."

I met his gaze, surprised by the unexpected softness in his voice, the genuine concern that seemed to radiate from him. It was a glimpse of the Ethan I used to know, the one I had missed.

"Yeah," I said, almost to myself, the words a fragile hope whispered into the gathering darkness. "Me too."