Shadows of the past
The community center smells the same.
Cheap cologne, lemon cleaner, and nostalgia I didn’t ask for.
I pause just inside the doors, clutching my invitation like it might bite me, and wonder—for the hundredth time tonight—why I thought coming back was a good idea. Ten years gone, and this place still feels like it knows all my secrets. Like it remembers the girl who learned how to disappear between these walls.
“Get it together,” I mutter, smoothing my dress.
The charity ball is in full swing. String lights drape the ceiling, soft music hums through the room, and familiar faces blur together—older, louder, fuller versions of the kids I grew up with. Laughter bounces off the walls. Someone calls my name. I nod, smile, keep moving.
I almost make it to the bar without incident.
Almost.
“Isla?”
The voice is warm. Deep. Familiar in a way that hits me square in the chest.
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn.
Mateo Alvarez is standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets like he belongs everywhere he’s ever stood. He’s taller than I remember. Broader. His dark hair is neatly styled, his suit fitted in a way that feels unfair, and his smile—
God.
That smile used to be shy. Crooked. Unsure.
Now it’s confident. Dangerous. Like he knows exactly what it does to me.
For a second, I can’t breathe.
Then instinct kicks in.
“Wow,” I say, lifting a brow. “Either I’m hallucinating, or the quiet kid from the library learned how to wear a suit.”
His grin widens.
Definitely not hallucinating.
“Nice to see you too,” he says, eyes sweeping over me—slow, appreciative, unapologetic. “You always did have a talent for making an entrance.”
I snort. “I walked in and almost tripped over a donation box.”
“Still counts.”
There’s a pause. A heavy one. Ten years of silence sitting between us, humming with everything we never said.
Up close, he smells like clean soap and something expensive. His presence presses in on me, steady and grounding in a way that makes my chest ache. This man does not resemble the boy who used to hunch over homework beside me, who pretended not to notice when I flinched at loud noises.
And yet.
His eyes soften when they meet mine.
Same brown. Same warmth.
Same Mateo.
“Didn’t know you were coming,” he says.
“I almost didn’t.”
Something flickers across his face—relief? Regret?—but it’s gone before I can name it.
“Well,” he says lightly, “I’m glad you did.”
I cross my arms, more defensive than I mean to be. “You say that like you expected me.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “I hoped.”
The honesty throws me off balance.
I recover quickly.
“You’re different,” I say.
He chuckles. “You should’ve seen me the first time I tried to grow a beard. Tragic.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Silence stretches again, but it’s not awkward. It’s charged. Like the air before a storm.
“You look…” He trails off, then smiles, a little softer. “Happy.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “That’s a bold assumption.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You look stronger.”
That lands.
My fingers tighten around my clutch.
“Careful, Alvarez,” I say. “You’re getting dangerously close to sentimental.”
His grin turns cocky. “What can I say? I’ve matured.”
“Sure you have.”
“Don’t worry,” he adds, eyes dancing. “I kept the nerdy parts. Just upgraded the confidence.”
I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me with a smile.
There it is.
The comfort.
The familiarity.
The feeling of being seen without being exposed.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks.
I hesitate.
Ten years ago, I would’ve said yes without thinking. Ten years ago, Mateo was my safe place.
Now?
Now he feels like a risk.
“I’m good,” I say. “But thanks.”
He nods, unfazed. “Coffee, then. Another time.”
“That wasn’t an offer.”
“It was,” he says smoothly. “Just not one you have to answer tonight.”
I glance up at him, suspicious. “You always this confident now?”
He smiles—slow, knowing.
“Only when it matters.”
And somehow, impossibly, I know he means me.
Before I can respond, someone calls his name from across the room.
Mateo steps back, hands up. “I’ll let you breathe.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“But Isla?” he adds, meeting my eyes one more time.
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
Then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving me standing there with a racing heart and the unsettling realization that some things—no matter how much time passes—never really fade.
They just wait.
