The chipped mug trembled in Leo's hand, almost spilling the lukewarm coffee. He stared across the worn wooden table at Maya, her face lit by the afternoon sun streaming through the diner window. He couldn't quite meet her gaze, instead focusing on the swirling cream at the bottom of his cup. She was so sure, so certain, about the details of that summer night by the lake. He, on the other hand, held a completely different version, a landscape of memories that clashed violently with hers. His fingers tightened around the ceramic, his knuckles turning white.
“But the bonfire was HUGE, Leo,” Maya said, her voice laced with amusement. “It practically lit up the whole cove.” Leo swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to reply. He remembered a small, flickering flame, huddled near the water's edge. He’d even have to put more wood on it, as it kept dying out.
He found himself fidgeting, pushing the salt shaker back and forth across the table. Why did she need to bring it up now, after all these years? The memory felt as sharp as shards of glass in his mind. He found himself picking at the peeling varnish on the tabletop.
“That’s… interesting,” he managed, the words sounding weak and unsure even to his own ears. The heat prickled on his neck as he glanced at her again, her expression open and clear. It was like they were talking about two different worlds.