There are memories that hurt because they were real.

And then there are the ones that hurt because they almost were.

Amara didn’t expect it to hit her that day.

It wasn’t a dramatic trigger.

No music. No sudden confrontation. No accidental run-in.

Just a place.

A simple, ordinary place.

She had taken a different route home after a meeting, cutting through a quieter street lined with older buildings and boutique storefronts.

The kind of street that felt untouched by time.

Warm brick.

Soft window displays.

Faded gold lettering on glass doors.

She wasn’t paying much attention at first.

Her mind was somewhere between thoughts — not heavy, not restless....