Chapter 1: Ghosts at the Reunion

The gym still smelled like old sweat and cheap coffee when Rachel found me. She hesitated, her voice barely above the hum of the '80s playlist: “Are you leaving again this time?”

Someone had taped old yearbook photos to the bleachers, and the PTA moms were still running the snack table like it was a Friday night football game. Rachel's voice was soft, almost lost beneath the upbeat music and the clatter of old friends reconnecting over plastic cups of soda. Her eyes, wide and searching, met mine across the buffet table—a table loaded with chicken tenders, barbecue sliders, and way too many types of dip.

I shook my head. “No, I’m not leaving.”

She chewed her lip, like she was afraid hope might break her teeth. For a second, she looked almost like the Rachel I used to know, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The overhead lights glinted off her earrings, and I caught the faint, familiar scent of her vanilla perfume. I felt a strange ache, sharp and uninvited.

Her face lit up with joy. “Then we—”

“Rachel.” I cut her off. “I’m getting married.”

Rachel froze.

Her fingers went slack, the red Solo cup nearly slipping from her hand. Her eyes flicked down, then away, fast—like she’d just touched a hot stove. For a moment, even the buzz of the reunion seemed to fade into silence.

The words she wanted to say caught in her throat; not a single sound came out.

Her friend, Liz, forced an awkward smile and tried to smooth things over. “Oh, Derek, come on. It’s been five years—are you still upset with Rachel?” Liz shot Rachel a sidelong glance, nudging her gently as if to coax her back to reality. Liz's nails tapped against her phone case—an anxious rhythm to fill the quiet.

Yeah, time flies. It’s already been five years.

I looked around, noticing how some of our classmates had already settled into the comfort of old inside jokes and newly acquired wedding bands. Five years is long enough for someone’s feelings to fade.