OLIVIA POV
He’d been different all day.
Different in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
He talked. Really talked. Opening up like he hadn’t before.
Telling me stories about things I didn’t even remember saying, or doing, until he mentioned them. Little fragments of my old self I didn’t think anyone had noticed — but he had.
And that scared me a little.
Because every word, every memory he shared, chipped away at the wall I’d built between us.
He noticed so much.
He remembered so much.
I started believing he was telling the truth — that he really had loved me since we were five.
He spoke about things I’d long buried, his tone somewhere between nostalgia and confession. Like today, when he brought up my sixteenth birthday.
“Do you remember that concert?” he’d asked out of now
