It was supposed to be just another Wednesday.
Nayla had wrapped up a presentation at work, feeling unusually confident, and decided to reward herself with a quiet coffee before heading home. Her favorite little café the one where the barista knew her order and didn't ask too many questions was nearly empty.
She was sipping her drink by the window when she heard a voice behind her.
"Wow. Nayla?"
Her stomach dropped.
She turned slowly.
It was Dito.
Of course, it was Dito.
The Dito who had once known her better than anyone else. The Dito who had left when things got "too quiet" between them. The Dito she had long since buried in the archives of lessons learned.
He was taller now, maybe. Or just carrying himself differently. Polished. Confident. The kind of man who made exits look like performances.
"Hi," she said politely.
"I didn't expect to see you here."
"I come here often," she replied simply, returning her gaze to the window.
Dito didn't get the hint.
"Still into black coffee and silence, huh?"
"Still into interrupting it, huh?" she said, not even trying to be subtle.
He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. "Fair."
She wanted him to leave. But some part of her, the part that used to shrink in his shadow, wanted to see how much she'd changed.
"How have you been?" he asked, slipping into the seat across from her without asking.
She let it happen.
"Good."
"Still writing?"
"Sometimes."
"You seem different," he said, studying her. "Lighter."
She paused. "I am."
Dito tilted his head. "Is there a reason?"
There it was.
The invitation to reopen old chapters.
She sipped her coffee before replying. "Yes. Someone sees me now."
The sentence landed with more weight than she expected. Even more than Dito expected, judging by his silence.
He leaned back. "I always cared, you know."
"But you didn't stay," she said, softly but clearly.
He nodded slowly. "No. I didn't."
They sat with the truth for a moment.
"I'm not angry anymore," she added.
"Good," he said. "I'm glad you're happy."
She gave him a small smile, not out of affection, but closure.
When she finally stood, she said, "Take care, Dito."
As she walked away, she didn't feel shaken.
She felt sure.
Later that night, she texted Raka.
"I saw someone today. From before."
"You okay?"
"More than okay. I realized I've grown. I didn't bend. I didn't shrink."
"That's my girl."
"Thanks for being the difference."
Raka replied:
"You were always capable. I just held the light long enough for you to find the switch."
Nayla smiled, tucking the phone to her chest.
There was a time when seeing Dito again would've unraveled her.
Now, he was just a footnote.
And Raka?
Raka was the beginning of every new sentence she wanted to write.