Six years.

That was how long Simon had managed to convince himself he was over you.

London was cold that evening, the streets crowded with people rushing home. Simon walked with his hands tucked into his jacket, balaclava hiding most of his face. He wasn’t expecting anything unusual—until someone bumped straight into him.

A handbag hit the pavement.

Simon crouched to pick it up at the exact same moment you did.

Then he looked up.

Brown eyes met his.

For a second, Simon didn’t move. The city seemed to disappear around him.

He knew that face.

but He knew those eyes.