Yet their story, the one that should have ended there, continued.

In college, Olivia met people she thought understood her better than anyone else ever had.
That, too, would become a mistake written quietly into history.
Later. 

She would get there.

One day, she changed her bus route.

She sat in a corner, the bus passing by the end of her street.
Passing by his house.

She remembered being a child, getting lost with him on buses that missed their stops, laughing at wrong destinations.
She remembered the girl who had bullied her, and how Miller had chosen to sit beside her from that day on.

And then there he was.

It had been years.

She felt beautiful.
Fulfilled.
As if she had gained something from growing up.

But seeing him made her breath escape her.

That nervous teenager lived within her, still.

He was taller than she remembered.
The stop near his house was one she always tried not to look toward too much.
As if wishing to be far made him appear closer.

After brief pleasantries, after not knowing how long was too long to speak, she asked, trying to sound neutral.

“How is Serina?”

“There’s a higher chance you’d know,” Miller laughed lightly.
“We broke up in the first year of college.”

It sounded like nothing.
Like a distant memory.
Like a story that had never mattered.

And Olivia felt strangely betrayed.

Not because he had moved on.
But because it had never been true love.
Never a fairytale.
Just a high school story that ended quietly.

And yet he stood close.
Interested.
Present in a way he hadn’t been for years.

He even mentioned playing games together again, when they had time.

Something stirred inside her.

Not hope.
That had long faded.

But familiarity.

Comfortable.
Dangerous.