Seventeen Years Later

Daniel woke first.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He just lay there, half-aware, watching the soft rise and fall of Lena’s breathing against his chest. Her hair was a mess, one arm draped across him like it had settled there hours ago and refused to leave.

It felt… easy.

Like whatever last night had stirred up hadn’t followed them home.

Carefully, he slid out from under her, making sure not to wake her. She shifted slightly, frowning for a second before settling again.

He smiled.

In the kitchen, he kept things simple—toasted bread, eggs, coffee. Nothing ambitious. Just enough to bring back to bed like it was something he did every day. Like this was already a habit.

When he nudged the door open with his foot, Lena was awake, propped against the pillows, scrolling absently through her phone.

“Morning,” she said, her voice still soft with sleep.

“Don’t get used to this,” he replied, setting the tray down. “This is a one-time performance.”

She smiled. “We’ll see.”

They ate slowly, talking about nothing—who danced the worst, which speech dragged on too long, the couple whose names neither of them could remember but had somehow ended up in half the photos.

It felt normal.

More than normal.

Safe.

“Show me the pictures,” Daniel said, leaning back against the headboard.

Lena shifted closer, her shoulder pressing into his as she angled the phone between them.

They scrolled.

Blurry dance floor shots. Half-laughing selfies. One where Daniel looked mid-sentence and vaguely confused.

“Delete that,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, already favouriting it.

Their heads tipped together as they laughed, the moment quiet and easy.

Then—

A notification slid across the top of the screen.

**Marcus:** *It was really good to see you last night.*

Lena’s thumb froze.

Daniel saw it.

Not because he was looking—but because it was right there.

Unavoidable.

The air shifted instantly.

Subtle.

But complete.

Lena exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding her breath without realising it.

“Are you going to open it?” Daniel asked.

His tone wasn’t sharp.

But it wasn’t light either.

She hesitated, then tapped the message.

Another one came through almost immediately.

**Marcus:** *Would you want to grab a coffee sometime? Properly catch up.*

Daniel leaned back slightly—not away from her, but enough to create space where there hadn’t been any seconds ago.

Lena locked the phone.

Too quickly.

“I didn’t expect that,” she said.

“No?” Daniel replied.

She turned to him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like I did.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence settled between them, heavier now.

Daniel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, choosing his next words more carefully than he wanted to.

“Are you going to reply?”

Lena looked down at the phone in her hand, her expression unreadable.

“I don’t know.”

It was the same answer as last night.

And somehow, it landed worse here—in daylight. In his bed.

“You don’t know,” he repeated.

“I just—” She stopped, frustrated. “I haven’t even processed seeing him yet, Daniel.”

“I’m not asking you to process it,” he said. “I’m asking what you’re going to do about it.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

His voice wasn’t raised.

But there was something firmer in it now.

Something new.

Lena pulled the duvet closer around herself, suddenly guarded.

“It was one message,” she said. “You’re acting like—”

“Like what?” Daniel cut in. “Like it matters?”

She didn’t answer.

Because it did.

They both knew it.

Daniel nodded slowly.

“Right.”

That one word carried more weight than anything else he’d said.

Lena’s chest tightened. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”

“Am I?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Then answer the question.”

She looked at him—really looked this time.

At the shift in him.

At the distance that hadn’t been there before.

“I don’t know if I should see him,” she admitted.

Daniel held her gaze.

“That’s not the question I asked.”

Her expression faltered.

Because she knew.

“Do you *want* to?” he said.

There it was.

Clear.

Simple.

And impossible to soften.

Lena’s grip tightened around her phone.

“I don’t know,” she said again.

And this time, it broke something.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Daniel nodded once, looking away, his jaw tightening before he exhaled.

“Okay.”

The word was calm.

Too calm.

Lena shifted toward him. “Daniel—”

“I think you should go.”

She blinked. “What?”

He stood, already reaching for his shirt.

“I think you should go,” he repeated, quieter now.

“Because I got a message?” she said, disbelief creeping in. “That’s what this is?”

“No,” he replied, pulling the shirt on. “It’s because you don’t know what you feel about it.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s honest.”

She pushed the covers back, standing too. “You don’t get to decide I need to leave because I haven’t sorted my thoughts in five minutes.”

“I’m not deciding for you,” he said. “I’m deciding for me.”

That landed harder than anything else.

Lena stared at him, hurt flickering across her face.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “One message and you’re—what? Done?”

Daniel shook his head. “No. But I’m not going to stand here pretending this doesn’t matter when it clearly does.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” she insisted.

“Then why don’t you know what to do?”

Silence.

Again.

And this time, it stretched too far.

“I can’t give you a better answer right now,” she said.

Daniel nodded slowly. “I know.”

And that was the problem.

She dressed quickly, movements sharper now—not angry, just overwhelmed.

Neither of them spoke.

At the door, her hand lingered on the handle.

“Daniel…”

He didn’t look at her straight away.

When he did, his expression wasn’t cold.

Just… closed.

“Figure out what you want,” he said.

Lena held his gaze for a moment longer, like she might say something else.

She didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And just like that, the morning—the easy, familiar version of them—was gone.

Leaving something far less certain in its place.