It began with a message.

Roy was tired—burned out from endless coding sessions, dealing with client demands, and a caffeine dependency that had long since turned into a personality trait. But something made him scroll a little longer on that art forum. Maybe it was fate—or maybe insomnia.

The username: LilArtjas23.

The artwork: delicate, dreamlike, with strokes of warmth and longing.

It tugged at something buried in him.

Without hesitation, he typed:

> “Your art feels like something I’ve seen in a dream. Or maybe a memory.”

He almost expected no reply.

But then—

> “Then maybe we’ve dreamed the same dreams.”

That was the beginning.

Their chats became nightly rituals. Lila’s voice was like a favorite song—soothing and playful, with a deep undertone that hinted at unspoken stories. Roy’s dry humor kept her laughing, even when her world felt heavy.

And in between jokes and stories, there was something else—a pull. Electric. Familiar.

Then came the moment.

Lila squinted into the webcam one night, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Wait... Roy? Roy Jensen?”

Roy tilted his head. “Yeah… why?”

Her voice dropped, almost breathless. “Greenfield Elementary? You gave me your dinosaur pencil sharpener on the last day of school…”

He blinked. “Lila Monroe? You braided my hair during recess and made me pinky-promise I’d never forget you?”

There was silence—charged and stunned.

Then she laughed. A sound so real, it echoed through his soul.

And just like that, childhood came rushing back. The treehouse they built, the muddy games in the backyard, the way they used to hold hands while crossing the street, even when they didn’t need to.

But they had grown up. And now... something very adult was forming between them.

Over the next few weeks, video calls got longer. Their faces lingered in the camera. Their words held heavier meaning. And one night, when Roy admitted he had booked a flight to her city, she didn’t stop him.

She whispered, “Come.”

---

He did.

The knock on her apartment door felt like thunder in his chest. When Lila opened it, time folded. She stood there—barefoot, in an oversized hoodie, hair down, lips parted in disbelief.

She looked like the girl he remembered and the woman he wanted—all at once.

“Hi,” he said, voice caught somewhere between a smile and awe.

“Hi,” she whispered, and before she could speak again, his arms were around her.

They clung to each other. The kind of hug that didn’t just feel like hello—it felt like everything that had ever been missing clicking into place.

Lila stepped back, holding his hand. “You look… different. But exactly the same.”

Roy grinned. “You look like everything I hoped you’d become.”

They sat on her couch, knees touching, eyes speaking for them.

The night stretched on—lit by candlelight and quiet jazz. He touched her fingers, one by one, like reacquainting himself with an old favorite book. She traced the lines of his jaw, feeling the man beneath the boy she used to chase on playgrounds.

There was no rush. Just slow-burning chemistry thick enough to wrap around them like smoke.

When Lila finally leaned forward, lips brushing his, it was as if time itself held its breath.

And when they kissed—soft, lingering, filled with emotion—it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a return.

To something lost.

To something waiting.

To something very real.

The morning after their kiss was quiet.

Lila stirred awake on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that Roy must’ve tucked around her. She blinked, sunlight streaking across the hardwood floor. There was a warm mug of coffee waiting on the table beside her, steam still rising, with a note scribbled on a napkin:

> "Went for a quick walk. Didn’t want to wake you. You looked... perfect. - R"

She pressed the napkin to her lips, smiling.

It had been years since she had let someone in—even longer since she had felt this safe, this seen. And somehow, in the span of a single night, Roy had rekindled something she didn’t even know she missed.

When the door opened an hour later, and Roy stepped in, windblown and holding a bag of croissants, she didn’t hesitate.

She stood, walked right up to him, and kissed him—slowly. Like punctuation. Like claiming him in the morning light.

He smiled against her lips. “Well... good morning to you too.”

“Hi,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

“You miss me after an hour?”

“I missed this version of me when you're not here.”

That made him pause. Eyes softening, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then maybe I should stay a while longer.”

---

The day became theirs.

They spent it curled on the couch, sharing old memories—recounting moments from childhood, like how Lila used to draw flowers on Roy’s math books, or how he once stood up for her in front of a bully.

But beneath the laughter, a current of longing flowed.

Their fingers touched often. A brush of knees. A lingering glance. The space between them kept shrinking, not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, gravitationally.

By late afternoon, they sat side by side on the bed, her head resting on his shoulder, the world outside forgotten.

“I kept thinking,” Roy murmured, “what if we never found each other again?”

Lila tilted her face to him, eyes searching his. “But we did.”

“I don’t want to lose this. Not again.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “Then don’t.”

And just like that, something shifted.

---

He leaned in—not rushed, but sure.

Their lips met again, familiar now, but hungrier. This time, their kiss deepened. His hands ran up her sides as hers curled into his hair. They pressed closer, mouths parting, breath catching.

Her legs tangled around his as she pulled him down onto the bed. The sheets were soft, but the tension between them was anything but.

Roy's voice was a whisper against her skin. “Are you sure?”

Lila nodded, tugging his shirt up. “I’ve never been more sure.”

What followed wasn’t just physical—it was the unraveling of years apart. They explored each other with reverence and urgency. Every touch spoke volumes. Every kiss ignited more.

His hands trailed her curves like they were meant for them. Her lips mapped his chest, his neck, his jaw. Clothes fell away, not hastily, but with purpose—every layer stripped revealing more trust, more heat, more them.

They moved together with instinct and connection. No hesitation. No doubt. Just raw, beautiful passion and the aching sweetness of reunion.

It wasn’t about lust alone.

It was about belonging.

And when they collapsed into each other afterward—sweaty, tangled, breathless—it wasn’t awkward or uncertain.

It was home.

---

As night fell, Lila rested her head on Roy’s bare chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Did we just make up for all those lost years in one day?” she whispered.

Roy laughed softly, stroking her hair. “Not even close. I plan to make up for every second. Starting tomorrow.”

She smiled against his skin. “Good. Because I don’t want to let you go again.”

“You won’t have to,” he murmured, holding her tighter.

Outside, the city buzzed, unaware of the quiet magic unfolding in a modest apartment.

Inside, two souls—once lost to time—were finally, completely, reunited.