It was weeks later when he saw her again. They were in a bar. He was with someone else.
She had waved briefly before returning to her conversation, wrapping herself in the protection of distraction.
At some point in the evening, they found themselves near enough to speak, alone enough to try.
Even these words feel uncomfortable now.
“How’s life,” trails into a noncommittal sound at the look on her face.
“It was good to see you.”
After a brief hesitation, they embrace, letting go quickly because even their bodies are strangers now.
And after she is gone, the weight of their last conversation still seems heavy in the air.
“But I love you.”