Her fingers brushed his wrist. A static charge. Then she was gone.

That afternoon, he found himself at the old pier, skipping stones. A shadow fell over him. Chris—his best friend from high school—stood there, arms crossed. Chris hadn’t aged well. Tension lined his jaw.

“You look like you need someone to feed you,” she said, handing over the casserole. “Or at least remind you to shower.”

“She’s been through a lot. We both have. Just… don’t be a tourist in her life, okay?”