The Reunion Letter . A retired man receives a letter from his first love inviting him to meet.

Don’t wait. The command felt like a mockery, delivered years too late. His mind instantly began to spin, cycling through questions: Why had it taken so long? Was she still there? Did she perhaps return every year? The hope—a hot, reckless thing he thought he had extinguished long ago—surged back, making him feel the raw, uncertain energy of his twenty-two-year-old self. The stability of his current life instantly felt paper-thin, inconsequential. He had to go. He had to know if the flicker she mentioned was still burning.

He threw a change of clothes into a weekend bag, his movements clumsy and driven by a need he hadn’t felt in decades. He didn’t check the time, he didn’t check the date—he simply drove, the familiar coastal roads giving way to the manicured, anonymous highways of the interior. The drive was a kaleidoscope of anticipation and dread, fueled by the haunting clarity of her voice in his head. He replayed the moments they had shared: the midnight walks, the quiet understanding of shared ambition, the explosive, youthful belief that they could change the world. It had ended abruptly, messily, and he had never allowed himself to look back closely until this moment.

Four hours later, he pulled up to the familiar, ivy-covered stone facade of the Gatehouse Inn. It looked older, slightly neglected, but the structure was the same. His heart was hammering against his ribs, a frantic, urgent rhythm that felt foreign to his quiet life. He walked across the parking lot, the key to his ordered world forgotten in his pocket.

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