He turned then, and his smile was the same—crooked, a little sad, entirely real. “Seven years,” he said.
Lena’s throat tightened. “Julian…” reunion7
Lena turned the card over in her hands. She hadn’t been to a single reunion. Not the casual fifth at a downtown brewery, not the holiday mixers organized by the alumni committee. But this one— Reunion Seven —felt different. Not because she missed the lockers or the fluorescent hum of the cafeteria. Because of the name scrawled at the bottom of the organizing committee’s list: Julian Cross. He turned then, and his smile was the
Julian stood by the windows overlooking the dark football field. He looked the same, but softer at the edges. His hair had threads of silver she didn’t remember. His hands were in the pockets of a blazer that fit him like it had been tailored for this exact moment. He wasn’t talking to anyone. He was just watching the crowd, the way he used to watch the rain through the library window. “Julian…” Lena turned the card over in her hands
She’d thrown the crane away. But she’d never forgotten the way he said her name.
She took his hand. The mirror-ball scattered light across the gym floor like fallen stars. And for the first time in a long time, Lena wasn’t looking back.
She laughed, the sound wetter than she intended. Around them, the reunion swirled on—old friends hugging, old grudges softening, old loves reigniting or dying for good. But here, by the window, the seven years collapsed into a single breath.