It happened again.

 OPen the history...''////https://www.highrevenuenetwork.com/rf1dj1x06?key=0aa16a7c0f0000b2fe614084b07ab273

A year. A whole year since the "forgotten scarf" incident. And here I was, staring down at another flimsy excuse in a text from Sarah: "Think I left my lucky keychain at your place. Any chance I can swing by?"

Lucky keychain? The plastic monstrosity with mismatched charms that looked like it belonged on a five-year-old's backpack? Give me a break. This was getting ridiculous. We'd circled the drain of will-they-won't-they for months after the break-up, those stolen moments fueled by "forgotten items" and empty promises. The last coffee date, a month ago, had ended with a lingering hug and whispered hopes, only to fizzle out into radio silence again.

Anger bubbled in my gut. Didn't she get it? The back-and-forth was killing me. Part of me wanted to ignore the text, to shut the door on this emotional rollercoaster. But another, weaker part, ached for the easy companionship we once shared.

With a sigh, I typed a reply, harsher than I intended: "Look, Sarah, if you want to talk, just say so. The forgotten trinket routine is getting old."

Hitting send, a wave of regret washed over me. Maybe I was being too harsh. But the truth was, I was tired of the games. We either figured things out or moved on.

The response came quickly: "Fine. You got me. I miss you, Derek. Is that okay?"

The simplicity of it disarmed me. I stared at the screen, a jumble of emotions warring within. Did I miss her? Absolutely. But was I ready to jump back into that messy dance of unspoken expectations?

Minutes bled into an eternity. Finally, I took a deep breath and typed: "Come over. But let's actually talk this time, no detours."

The silence stretched until the buzzer finally blared, announcing Sarah's arrival. I opened the door, bracing myself for the usual awkward shuffle. Instead, she met my gaze head-on, a vulnerability etched on her face.

"Hey," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I brought, uh, well..." She held up a dented key chain, a single, faded charm clinging precariously. A ghost of a smile played on her lips.

We both laughed, the sound raw and honest. It felt like a dam had broken. We talked for hours that night, not about the past year, but about our dreams, our fears, the things left unsaid before. It was a conversation we should have had a year ago, but it was happening now, and that was what mattered.

As dawn painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Sarah stood by the window, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Maybe," she started hesitantly, "we can try again. But this time, for real. No more forgotten items, no more detours."

My heart hammered in my chest. Was I ready for that kind of commitment? The truth was, I didn't know. But the thought of losing her again, of going back to the silence, was unbearable.

Taking a deep breath, I met her gaze. "Yeah," I said, my voice hoarse. "Yeah, let's try."

We walked her to the door, a tentative hope hanging in the air. This time, there were no lingering hugs, no whispered promises. Just a handshake, a look that spoke volumes. We were starting over, building something new on the shaky foundation of the past year.

It wouldn't be easy. Old patterns die hard, and trust, once broken, takes time to mend. But as I closed the door, a sliver of optimism warmed my chest. Maybe, just maybe, this time, it would be different