Page 126 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Like if I get too close too quickly, the ghost would disappear.

But he didn’t.

Because he moved too.

Toward me.

We met halfway, stopping when we were just heartbeats away.

Our eyes locked, like neither of us trusted the moment enough to look away.

My eyes burned. Tears welled before I could stop them.

But I didn’t wipe them away. I was too busy making sure he was real.

Victor.

I let my eyes take him in slowly—carefully.

His face first.

Still the same.

That square-shaped face I had memorized without meaning to. Those foxy eyes—sharp, a little distant, but warm whenever he smiled. His hair still well kept. His beard, trimmed just enough to make him look like he had control over things.

He looked the same.

And that was the problem, because I wasn’t.

My gaze dropped briefly to his polo shirt—of all things.

Clean. Simple. Completely out of place in a rooftop party filled with half-dressed men and loud intentions.

It felt so… him.

He never needed to match the room to stand out in it.

“Hi,” he said, finally.

The first words after a million heartbreaks.

Soft. Careful.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because if I spoke, I was afraid I would crumble.

So instead, I lifted my hand.

Slowly. Gently.

And reached for his face.

My fingers brushed against his cheek.

Warm.