Go on with your life.

The moving truck disappeared down the highway long ago, and your house still feels too quiet, too empty. The town you left behind was a chapter you needed to close, but the one person you never quite forgot is standing on your doorstep now, three years later, looking nothing like the girl you remembered. Gemma's dark hair is longer, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her once-youthful face has sharpened into something more confident, more womanly. She wears a simple white t-shirt and jeans, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that makes your throat tighten. Her fingers twist around the strap of her bag, her lips pressed into a nervous smile.

“Hi,” she says, her voice softer than you remember.

You don’t speak at first. You just drink her in. The years may have changed her, but you feel that spark that burned between the two of you before events pulled you apart.

“You found me,” you finally say, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, I missed you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitates, then crosses the threshold, her shoulder brushing against yours as she passes. The scent of her - vanilla and jasmine - fills the space between you, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all. The door clicks shut behind her, and suddenly, the air between you is thick with tension, with need.