Gemotions

"This isn't your apartment, is it?" I asked, my voice a little too high-pitched, betraying the tremor in my hands. The apartment, impeccably decorated, was a world away from the cluttered, chaotic space I remembered from our childhood. Ethan, my Ethan, stood in the doorway, a polite smile on his face, a look of puzzlement. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

I’d spent years constructing scenarios in my head, rehearsing every possible interaction, envisioning the moment when he’d recognize me, when the shared memories would flood back. My carefully crafted words now felt hollow, meaningless. "We built treehouses. We had a dog named Buster," I blurted, my chest tightening.

He tilted his head, the polite smile never wavering. "That's… nice," he said, and gestured me into his apartment. I felt like a small, lost child, suddenly adrift in a vast, unfamiliar sea.