ALMOST YOURS

Some people come into your life like a spark. Others? Like a slow burn that never quite dies out. For Amara and Jordan, it was always the wrong time. But never the wrong feeling. THE HISTORY They met in college. Same poetry class. Same sarcasm. Same playlist. Jordan was the kind of guy who filled a room effortlessly—charismatic, quick-witted, and always smiling. He had a way of making strangers feel like old friends. Amara was different. She observed quietly from the edges, thoughtful, always scribbling something in her worn-out notebook. While Jordan lit up conversations, Amara gave them depth. They became friends almost accidentally—bonding over a shared love for poetry, black coffee, and late-night indie playlists. Their conversations felt easy, and natural, like they’d known each other in another life. But Jordan had a girlfriend. And Amara wasn’t the kind of person to interfere. So they stayed friends. The kind of friends who texted “you up?” and meant “I need someone to talk to.” The kind who knew each other’s coffee orders, childhood fears, and what songs they cried to. The kind of friends who, if life had gone differently, might have been something more. They were each other’s almost. THE ALMOST MOMENT Graduation came, and with it, the inevitable distance. Everyone was moving on—careers, cities, new lives. One rainy evening, they met at their favorite café for what was supposed to be a simple goodbye. The place was quiet, cozy, and filled with the familiar scent of cinnamon and wet pavement. Amara watched the rain slide down the window while Jordan rambled about his new job in Chicago. But there was a heaviness between them, an unspoken question lingering in the air. Jordan leaned closer, his voice softer than usual. > “Do you ever think… maybe in another life?” Amara looked at him, her heart thudding in her chest. She wanted to say no, to laugh it off—but she couldn’t. “All the time,” she whispered. And then he kissed her. It wasn’t urgent or rushed. It was slow, unsure like they were both afraid it would break something if they moved too fast. It tasted like goodbye. It was a kiss filled with years of repressed feelings, aching hearts, and missed chances. A kiss they should’ve shared years ago—but never did. The next morning, he left. No note. No message. Just gone. TWO YEARS LATER Life moved on, as it always does. Amara got a job in publishing and moved into a small apartment with too many plants and not enough sunlight. She dated, smiled, and lived—but something always felt unfinished. She didn’t hate Jordan. She just didn’t understand. Then, two years later, at a mutual friend’s wedding, she saw him. He looked the same—maybe a little older, maybe a little more tired. The same messy hair, and the same warm smile, but something behind his eyes had changed. When their eyes met across the room, it was like time folded in on itself. Later that night, under the string lights on the patio, he approached her. “I owe you an apology,” he said. Amara raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed but heart pounding. “I wasn’t ready,” he admitted. “Back then… I didn’t know how to handle it. You. Us.” “And now?” she asked. He hesitated. “Now I know exactly what I lost.” She sighed, a sad smile on her lips. “You were never really mine to lose.” THE ENDING They danced once that night. Slow. Quiet. No promises. A song neither of them remembered played in the background. For those few minutes, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were twenty-two again, standing in the rain. But when the song ended, she stepped away. Amara left the wedding with her heels in hand and her heart intact. She didn’t look back. Because now she understood: Some people aren’t meant to stay. Some loves are meant to shake you, shape you, and leave you stronger. He was her almost. And that was enough.