Friday afternoon, January 20th, 2023.
Campus pool – Rivermount University, Brooklyn. Indoor. Heated. Chlorine-heavy. Buzzing with light reflections and the occasional splash of youth, glory, and forgotten promises.
Ethan adjusted his goggles with practiced precision and stood at the edge of the lap lane. His shirtless frame was cut and defined — not with vanity, but with deliberate discipline. Every part of him reflected control. Power. Cold patience.
"Dude, seriously, you're ruining the curve for every guy here," John Stewart called from a lounge chair nearby, his voice laced with mock jealousy and a chocolate doughnut halfway to his mouth.
John, now a transfer student, was the very picture of chaotic resistance to change. Short, round, and comfortably wrapped in an anime hoodie, he was Ethan's exact opposite in posture, attitude, and worldview. A relic of their childhood days — messy, loyal, and loud.
"I mean, do you have to look like a Greek statue? Meanwhile, I look like an overcooked marshmallow with self-esteem issues."
Ethan smirked under his breath, stretching his shoulders. "You could swim too, you know."
"Yeah," John scoffed. "And risk my snack digestion? Please. This body is built for survival, not speed."
He then casually turned his head and did a quick scan of the poolside — narrowing in on a group of pretty girls drying their hair and laughing. He nudged his sunglasses down. "Although… I could consider cardio for science."
Ethan dove into the water, escaping John's commentary like a blade slicing through silence. For the next thirty minutes, he glided across the pool with mechanical grace — smooth, fast, and locked in a meditative rhythm.
John, meanwhile, went through two energy bars and three Instagram reels of "pool fails" while trying to "accidentally" start conversations with passing girls.
"Hey, you dropped your confidence… No? Just checking."
And then — she appeared.
Liora Marks.
Wavy caramel hair. Confidence in heels. That same curve of a smirk she wore back when she was the reason Ethan once wrote poems in margins and lost sleep over texts that never came.
She wore a light blue hoodie and black leggings, her presence radiating calculated nonchalance as she walked along the glass walls toward the locker rooms. But her gaze landed — unmistakably — on Ethan mid-lap. And stayed.
John saw her too.
"Wait… wait a damn second," he muttered. "Is that—? Yo, yo!"
Ethan surfaced and pulled off his goggles. His chest rose and fell from the exertion — but his eyes locked directly onto hers.
She gave a small nod. Barely there. But it was there.
"Bro," John whispered as Ethan walked toward the edge. "That's Liora Marks. The Liora. The one who ghosted you like a CIA operation?"
Ethan grabbed a towel, didn't answer. His face had gone unreadable.
"I thought she transferred to that art-and-theory college in Manchester?"
"She did."
"And now she's back? What is this? Ex Machina: The Return of Trauma Edition?"
"She's visiting," Ethan replied shortly. "I don't care."
But John had known Ethan since they were kids playing ninja in the backyard. He caught that millisecond falter — the brief glitch behind Ethan's eyes. A history unspoken, still loaded.
"Do you still think about her?" John asked, suddenly softer.
"No," Ethan replied. "But I remember what I became because of her."
John leaned back. "Sounds like something from a revenge novel."
Just then, as if summoned by the awkward gods of irony, Liora passed near the bleachers.
She paused. Looked straight at Ethan. And with a sly smile, said, "You still train like you're trying to outrun something."
Ethan didn't flinch. "Maybe I am."
A second of tension. Nostalgia. Regret. Hunger.
Then she walked on.
John exhaled like he'd just witnessed a live breakup sequel. "Okay. That was hotter than it had any right to be. I think my hoodie is sweating."
Ethan dried off, eyes hard. "She's not part of my present anymore."
John, sitting there wide-eyed, still clutched his doughnut. "Well, if she's not… can I at least ask for her number?"
Ethan didn't laugh. But he also didn't say no.
They walked out of the pool area in silence. Behind them, the water stilled. The ghosts stayed.
But in Ethan's head, a single thought clawed back to the surface:
Liora had once known the softer version of him. The one who craved love.
That version was dead.
And this time, he wouldn't be the one left bleeding.