"And you? Did you stop doing something you loved?"
He lets out a low laugh, but there's something in his eyes... a fleeting shadow of nostalgia.
"I didn't stop doing something... but I let someone go. I should have fought for her."
His tone is light, almost playful, but I notice the truth hidden behind his words. However, I decided not to ask. There's comfort in this conversation, in the way it flows without pressure or expectations.
"So why did you come?" I ask sincerely.
Dylan holds my gaze for a moment that feels much longer than it really is. His fingers move slightly, as if considering touching me, but he doesn't.
"Because I couldn't stop thinking about you."
My heart gives a small leap. I don't know if it's because of his words, the tone with which he says them, or the way his
