A Bitter Sequel (Some Fires Never Die)

 The room was alive with music and chatter, but to her, it all felt distant—a dull hum drowned out by the wild beating of her heart. The dim lights cast long shadows on the walls, and the air was thick with warmth. She hadn’t planned to come tonight, but something about this party had felt inevitable, like the pull of a tide.

Then, across the room, their eyes locked.

Her breath hitched. Time slowed. He was there. The man she had left behind—the one who had known her every flaw, every wild impulse. He stood still, watching her with a gaze that seemed to burn through the haze of bodies and conversations between them. She could feel the weight of all the years they had spent apart. Every unspoken word, every ache they had tried to bury, rose to the surface.

In that moment, she felt the rain again. That rain-soaked night, when she had left him standing on the street, wearing the yellow fur coat he’d bought her—a splash of color against the gray. She had chosen her family then, their disapproval too sharp to ignore. But the guilt of that choice had followed her, the rain never truly stopping in her mind.

Now here he was, standing just a few feet away, looking at her as if he were searching for answers he’d never found.

He had tried so hard to extinguish the embers of his love for her. He had left them to cool, or so he thought. But seeing her now, they flared to life, hotter than ever. And he knew he had never truly let her go.

Her engagement ring sparkled under the low lights, a cruel reminder of the life she was supposed to be building with another man. Yet, with him here, none of it felt real. The party pressed on around them, but they were trapped in a bubble of their shared past—haunted and helpless.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Yet everything they had ever felt was there, hanging heavy in the air between them.

Some fires never die.