After my last relationship flatlined, I reached into my emotional junk drawer and pulled out a name I hadn’t deleted. A placeholder. A “just in case.”

We’d hooked up once, years ago, while I was dating his friend. We never talked about it, but we stayed in touch the way people do when they’re too curious to let go but too cautious to move forward. There would be birthday texts. A heart on an Instagram Story. The occasional rogue emoji. We ran into each other sometimes, always by accident, though increasingly it felt like fate. The tension between us hummed just below the threshold of language. It was a low-stakes danger, like driving with one headlight out.

He was always in a relationship, or I was. Still, I liked to believe I lingered in the back of his mind. I know he lingered in mine.

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