lost star

The room at the resort was quiet, glowing with the soft orange tint of sunset filtering through sheer curtains. I was standing by the doorway, unsure if I should step inside, when he looked at me.

My old-time crush.

He wasn’t the same as I remembered—maybe a little older, softer around the eyes—but there was still that warmth in the way he said my name.

"Until when are you staying?" he asked, casually, as if we always saw each other like this.

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I looked at him. Really looked.

And without another word, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

He froze for just a second… then hugged me back.

It wasn’t the kind of hug you give someone you just met again—it was the kind of hug that remembered. A hug that said I missed you too, even if I didn’t know I did. A hug that felt like home for a moment.

I didn’t care what it meant, or if I would ever see him again.

Right then, I just held him.

And he held me.

And the world outside—the fireworks, the dancing, the noise—faded into something far away.

All I could feel was warmth.