The first thing I noticed when I saw Eli that morning wasn't his smile. It was the way his shoulders moved a little slower, a little heavier than I remembered. Like the world had grown heavier and he had simply learned to carry it.
He stood by the ballroom windows, with sunlight washing over him in soft gold. The city stretched wide behind the glass, glimmering beneath the early light. I stood by the doorway for a moment, pretending to check my phone, pretending I didn't feel the familiar ache start in my chest.
"Morning," I said finally, forcing my voice into something light.
He turned with a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Morning. You're early."
"I didn't want to be late."
Almost smiling, he tilted his head. "Still the same."
"Still what?"
"You're still punctual and overprepared."
I let out a small laugh. "I'd call that responsible."
He shrugged. "I'd call that very you."
I looked away before he could see me soften. I didn't come here for nostalgia. I came because this is for my wedding.
He was just… logistics.
He was supposed to be just logistics.
I followed him as he walked toward the terrace, his clipboard balanced against his arm, a pen tucked neatly behind his ear. It was a small detail, but it hit me anyway. He used to do that when we studied together.
He stopped in the middle of the room. He's scanning the layout sketches spread across the long table. "Daniel mentioned you wanted the ceremony by the glass terrace," he said. "You'll have the ocean in the background at sunset. It's a strong visual."
I nodded, pretending to pay attention, but my eyes kept drifting toward his hands. His fingers traced over the blueprint like he was memorizing it. Those were the same hands that once learned the shape of my face by touch.
I looked away. "Yes. Daniel wanted that. The sunset thing."
"Do you?" he asked.
"Do I what?"
"Want it that way."
I hesitated. "It's not really about what I want."
He glanced at me, his expression was unreadable. "Maybe it should be."
The silence that followed pressed heavy between us. The ballroom's echo made every sound sharper.
I straightened my posture. "We can move on to the reception layout."
"Of course." He nodded, flipping to the next page.
His professionalism was painfully perfect. His every gesture was measured, his every glance was brief. If I hadn't known him, I'd think he didn't care. But I did know him. And the way his voice faltered on certain words told me otherwise.
As we moved through the ballroom, he pointed out floral arrangements and table placements. He talked about lighting, stage setups, the sequence of events. I listened, but my mind refused to stay still. Because every small thing reminded me of something old.
The first bouquet he mentioned was white peonies. It reminded me of the day he brought some to my brother's house after my first art exhibit. I'd been nervous that night, hiding in the kitchen, terrified no one would come. And he showed up with peonies because, he said, "They look like something that would make you smile."
And I did. I smiled for hours.
That same boy now stood in front of me, talking about floral budgets and centerpiece designs, like none of that ever happened.
"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked. "What?"
"You went quiet."
"I'm fine," I said too quickly.
He studied me for a moment, then nodded, though I could tell he didn't believe me. "Just checking."
I forced a smile. "You sound like my brother."
His eyes softened just for a second. "He used to say the same thing about me."
There the small reminders, are slipping in without warning again.
We reached the terrace, where the wind came in gentle and cold. The sea stretched wide below. It look silver and endless. Eli stepped beside me, folding his arms loosely.
"You know," he said, voice low, "it's hard to imagine you getting married here."
I turned to him. "Why?"
He met my eyes. "Because I used to think you'd never settle for predictable."
I swallowed. "Maybe I learned to stop expecting too much."
He looked down, jaw tightening. "Or maybe you just stopped believing people could keep their promises."
The words sank deep.
"Don't do that," I said quietly.
"Do what?"
"Talk like you still know me."
He exhaled, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Maybe I don't. But I remember the way you used to talk about love like it was supposed to mean something."
"It stopped meaning something the day you lied to me."
The wind shifted, cold against my skin. He didn't speak right away, and I could almost hear the memory of the night I found out, the silence that followed, the goodbye I never said.
When we walked back inside, something had changed.
I was gathering my things when he spoke again.
"Lia," he said quietly.
He gestured toward the corner of the room — away from the staff, away from everything that made this look like work.
I shouldn't have followed him. But I did.
He stood by the glass again, facing the sunlight. "About what you said earlier. That I lied."
"You did."
He turned to me.with eyes calm but tired. "No. I didn't."
A short and bitter laugh escaped me. "You were engaged, Eli. How's that not a lie?"
He ran a hand through his hair, the tension breaking through his composure. "It wasn't what you think."
"It never is, right?"
"Lia—"
"Don't." My voice cracked. "Don't say my name like that. Like it still matters."
He stepped closer. "It does."
I froze.
He was close enough for me to smell the faint trace of his cologne. It was the same. His gaze searched mine, and for a second, I almost forgot why I was angry.
He spoke again, softer this time. "You think I wanted any of that? You think I wanted her?"
"Don't make excuses," I said, my hands trembling.
He shook his head. "It wasn't an excuse. It was an arrangement. My family's company was collapsing. My father—" He stopped and swallowed hard. "He wanted to fix things the only way he knew how. He arranged a marriage with one of our investors' daughters. I didn't even know until it was already announced."
I stared at him, the words slow to sink in. "So you're saying it wasn't real?"
"It was on paper, not in my heart."
The room spun for a second. "You could've told me."
"I was going to." His voice cracked. "I just needed time. I thought I could end it before you found out."
"But I did find out," I said, my voice trembling. "And you didn't deny it. You let me walk away."
His eyes closed for a moment. "Because you didn't give me a chance."
Something sharp twisted in my chest. "You had years to find me."
"I did," he whispered. "Every single one of them."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
He looked at me and I saw the guilt, the ache, the part of him that never healed either.
"I never stopped loving you, Lia."
My heart clenched. "Don't."
"It's true."
"Stop."
"Not even when you left. Not when you got engaged. Not now."
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. "You don't get to say that. You had your chance."
"I didn't," he said, voice breaking. "It was taken from me."
"By who?"
He hesitated. "Your brother."
My breath caught. "What?"
He nodded slowly. "He found out before you did. He told me to stay away. Said you deserved better than someone already promised. Said if I cared about you, I'd let you go."
My chest tightened painfully. "And you listened."
"I thought it was what you wanted."
I laughed, tears finally spilling. "You really didn't know me, then."
He stepped closer again, eyes desperate now. "I knew you better than anyone. I just didn't want to ruin you the way my world was already ruined."
I wiped at my tears, shaking my head. "You already did, Eli."
We both stood there quietly, shaking, staring at the space that used to hold everything between us.
Finally, I said, "So what now?"
He looked away, jaw tense. "Now you marry him."
The words landed like a knife.
"And you plan it?"
He gave a small, hollow laugh. "Yeah. I plan it."
I took a shaky breath. "Then I guess we keep pretending."
He met my eyes one last time. "We're good at that, aren't we?"
"Yes," I said softly. "We always were."
I left the ballroom before he could say anything else.
But as I walked down the empty hallway, my reflection in the glass walls looked like a ghost of a woman who had everything she wanted and nothing she needed.
And behind me, I could still hear the echo of his voice, breaking in all the places mine used to.
"I never lied to you, Lia.
I just didn't tell you soon enough."
That night, I sat in my car long after the engine stopped, my engagement ring cold against my skin.
The city lights blurred outside the windshield, and for the first time in years, I wondered if love could still haunt the living, if something unfinished could keep finding its way back, no matter how far you ran.
Because it felt like Eli just had.
And this time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to run again.