Chapter 2: Ghosts in the Elevator

Three years later, Ethan found me by the elevator in my building—eyes red-rimmed, voice raw. His shirt was wrinkled, jacket half off, like he’d rushed out the door. “Mia, give me one more chance.”

He looked nothing like the untouchable guy I remembered. His hair was messier. He seemed smaller, somehow. Like the years had worn him down. His posture was hunched, hands jammed in his pockets, almost like he was holding himself together by sheer will.

“Mia, wait!”

My heart stuttered. I didn’t want to turn around. His voice cracked, echoing down the hallway. I froze, my hand hovering over the elevator button—a moment’s hesitation, just long enough for the old habit to kick in. I turned, bracing myself.

I sighed, stopping short, pulse racing. There he was, hurrying toward me. For the hundredth time tonight, I regretted coming to this stargazers’ club reunion. If I’d known Ethan Brooks had organized it after moving back from London, I would’ve made up an excuse. Why did it have to be him?

The elevator doors pinged and slid shut, sealing us into this awkward little bubble. My stomach twisted. I’d spent years learning to live without Ethan, and now here he was, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered. It felt surreal, like I’d stepped into someone else’s life.

Even after all this time, I still wasn’t ready to face the guy I’d chased for so long. The one I could never quite reach. Sometimes I wondered if I ever would be.

It was like seeing a ghost. My chest tightened. Not the old way, though. This was different—like bracing for a storm you know you’ll survive, but you’re still not eager to stand in the rain.

I hesitated for a beat, then forced a polite smile. “Ethan, what’s up?”

My voice came out a little too bright, a little too practiced. I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, hoping he couldn’t see how my hands trembled. Honestly, I’d gotten good at playing it cool, at least on the outside.

“Mia, can I drive you home?” That was new. His voice was softer than I remembered, almost hopeful.

He looked at me like he was searching for something—maybe forgiveness, maybe a do-over. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded, not just awkward. It was the kind of moment that makes you want to fidget or run.

I blinked. The ice king, offering me a ride? Wasn’t he worried Jasmine would get jealous? Ha. The old Ethan would never have offered. Not in a million years.

I almost laughed, but caught myself. The Ethan I knew would never have offered. The Ethan I knew would have let me walk home alone, no matter how late it was. Guess things really had changed.

“Nah, I drove myself tonight.”

I tried to keep it light, but there was an edge to my words. The parking lot was quiet. Neon city lights reflected in puddles, turning the world blue and pink. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I heard him ask, “Mia, you changed your number. Can I have it?”

That caught me off guard. Since when was Ethan Brooks this direct with me? Seriously, who was this guy?

I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with my keys. For a second, I wondered if I should just say no. But something in his voice—raw and uncertain—made me pause. Maybe I was curious, or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that I was over him. Or maybe I just liked having the upper hand for once.

Time changes people. Just like how my old crush for him had faded, soft and bleached like an old Polaroid left in the sun.

Isn’t it weird how the things that once felt so urgent can fade away? It was almost funny, how those old feelings could become so faint. I realized then that I could look at Ethan and not feel that old ache, not really. Maybe that was progress.

After a pause, I nodded. We exchanged numbers, waved goodbye, and I walked to my car. I fumbled with the lock, heart weirdly calm. When I glanced back, he was still standing there, like he couldn’t quite let go. For a second, I almost waved again, but didn’t.

I watched him for a moment, his silhouette outlined by the streetlights, shoulders slumped. For the first time, I felt a pang of sympathy instead of longing.

Then I got in my car and drove away, the past receding in the rearview mirror.

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