“Still Remember Me?”

The scent of sizzling meat hung heavy in the chilly Portland air, curling through the mist that rolled down Southeast Hawthorne Boulevard. Grease hissed, smoke rose, and Maya Lopez flipped another patty onto the grill, the sou

She didn’t notice him at first. Not the tall figure in the tailored navy suit, not the gleam of expensive shoes against the cracked pavement, not the faint cologne that didn’t belong anywhere near a food truck. He was just another customer—until those three words sli

“Still remember me?”

Th

Dani

He

Maya blinked hard, grounding herself in the heat of the grill. She refused to let him see her shake. Portland had taught—

Daniel stood

His driver had suggested they eat somewhere more “appropriate,” but Daniel had insisted on this detour. He’d tracked her down himself, tracing whispers of a food truck called The Hu—

Now,

H

Maya di

The mechanical exchange stung more than he expected. She handed him his change without meeting his eyes, but when their fingers brushed, the spar.

That’s

This time, she looked up. And the world tilted.

Behind

Her

Daniel

After her parents died and left her with medical debt that could drown anyone else, she’d taken every cent she had, bought this food truck, and refused to quit. The Hungry Heart wasn’t just a name—it was her truth. Every burger flipped was another bill paid, another night she didn’t crumble.

He waited until the rush died, until the last customer walked off into the rain. The city had grown quieter, lit by the amber glow of street lamps and neon signs flickering from nearby cafés. Maya was wiping down the grill when she noticed him still standing there, the suit jacket now damp from the mist.

“You’re persistent,” she said without looking up.

“I had to see you.”

“You’ve seen me. You can go now.”

“I’m not here to—”

“To what?” she cut in, snapping the towel harder than necessary. “Gloat? Flash your success? You found me, Daniel. Congratulations.”

He flinched, caught off guard by her bite. “I didn’t come to gloat.”

“Then why are you here?”

He exhaled, the fog of his breath curling between them. “To make things right. Or try to.”

Maya laughed, a hollow, tired sound. “You think showing up after ten years changes anything?”

“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “But it’s a start.”

Her hands stilled. The honesty in his tone disarmed her for a second—but only a second. “What do you want from me?”

“Dinner. A conversation. Maybe a second chance.”

“Daniel,” she said, finally meeting his gaze, “you don’t get second chances in real life. Especially not from people you left behind.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at her with something she couldn’t read—regret, maybe. Or longing. Or both.

Rain began to fall harder, speckling the metal roof of the truck. Daniel didn’t move. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card, and set it on the counter.

“If you ever change your mind,” he said, “call me.”

She didn’t look at it. Didn’t want to. But after he walked away and disappeared into the mist, she found herself staring at the embossed letters anyway: Daniel Chen, Founder & CEO, Arcadia Systems.

She’d heard of the company—everyone in Portland’s tech scene had. A billion-dollar startup that began in a cramped dorm room.

He’d done it. He’d actually built an empire from scratch.

And now he was back.

Maya folded the card once, then again, until the edges bit into her palm. Her world felt too small for all the ghosts that had suddenly come back to life.

That night, as she drove her food truck through the slick streets, past the glowing windows of bars and corner stores, she couldn’t shake the memory of his voice. “Still remember me?”

She wanted to hate how it sounded.
She wanted to forget how it felt.
But she couldn’t.

Because deep down, beneath the scars of the last ten years, a small, traitorous part of her whispered the truth—
She did remember him. Every single piece.

Rain was sliding down the windshield when Daniel stepped out of his car that night. Portland’s streets shimmered with neon reflections, a blur of food truck lights and soft jazz leaking from open bars. Across the street, The Hungry Heart was closing. Maya was wiping the counter, humming something faint — a tune that sounded like a memory he shouldn’t still remember.

He stood there for a moment, watching her through the misted glass. Ten years had passed, yet somehow his heart still reacted like it was yesterday. The past didn’t fade; it just learned how to hide under polite smiles and professional offers.

He walked closer. Maya noticed him this time — no shock, no warmth, just a calm wall behind her eyes. She dried her hands and stepped outside.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly.
“I told you,” he answered, voice low. “I’m not here to stir the past. I’m here for the future.”

The silence between them was heavier than the rain. She folded her arms.
“You want to invest in The Hungry Heart?”
“Yes. I believe in it. I believe in you.”

Her eyes flickered, suspicious. “You believed in me once before. It didn’t end well.”
“That’s why I’m back,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “To make it right.”

Inside, the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound. Daniel placed a folder on the counter — business proposals, partnership terms, everything official. Maya flipped through the pages, her hands steady but her pulse not.

“You went through the trouble of drawing up contracts?” she asked, glancing at the embossed company name on top — Reeves Holdings. The name burned.
“It’s clean,” Daniel said quickly. “No strings. I’m not here under anyone else’s shadow. Not this time.”

She wanted to believe him. The truth was, he looked different — older, sharper, with that expensive quietness men wear when they’ve learned to carry regret. But every time she started to soften, she’d see the echo of that night he left without a word. The check his father sent. The humiliation she tore in half and threw in the rain.

Trust is like glass — once cracked, it reflects everything differently.

“Just business,” she finally said. “You want to invest, we’ll talk numbers.”
Daniel’s lips curved into something almost like relief. “Then let’s start.”

Over the next few days, Portland softened under autumn. They met in coffee shops and quiet corners, reviewing logistics, costs, menu expansions. Maya watched him the way one might watch a fire — beautiful, dangerous, not to be touched. Daniel, meanwhile, moved carefully, measuring every word like stepping through broken glass.

But every now and then, the old rhythm slipped through — the way he smiled when she rolled her eyes, the way her voice softened when he asked about her recipes.

One afternoon, as they sampled new sauces, his fingers brushed hers. It was an accident, or maybe not. The air thickened.
She pulled her hand back. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”
He smiled faintly. “Not even close.”

She wanted to believe that too.

That night, Maya stayed late at the truck, counting receipts. Daniel had left hours before, saying he had a call to take “from investors.” She didn’t think much of it — until her phone buzzed. A message from her old friend, Lena, who worked at a local PR firm.

“Just saw Daniel Reeves at the Marriott downtown. Meeting with Richard Reeves. I thought they weren’t on speaking terms? 👀”

The name hit her like a knife. Richard Reeves — Daniel’s father. The same man who’d once offered her money to disappear from his son’s life.

Maya stared at the screen. Her pulse spiked. Her throat tightened.

She wanted to dismiss it — maybe it was business, maybe coincidence. But Daniel had sworn he had no contact with his father.

She stepped outside, rain misting the pavement again. Her reflection in the puddle looked like a ghost of herself ten years younger, standing in this same city, waiting for answers that never came.

The next morning, Daniel arrived early, carrying coffee and a blueprint roll. “I’ve got something new to show you,” he said, smiling. He looked rested, confident — the mask of a man who’d just secured a deal.

Maya kept her tone cool. “You were busy last night?”
He hesitated for just a second — barely noticeable. “Just some work. Why?”
“Nothing,” she said, pretending to study the blueprints. But she noticed how his hand tensed, how his gaze avoided hers for a heartbeat too long.

The plans were impressive — expansion layouts, new kitchen modules, marketing visuals. Everything The Hungry Heart could be. But all she could see was the Reeves Holdings logo faintly stamped at the bottom corner.

Her voice came out steady. “Daniel, does your father know about this?”

He froze. “What?”
“This project. The investment. Does he know?”
“Of course not,” he said instantly. Too quickly.

Maya set the papers down. The air between them turned cold.
“I saw something,” she whispered. “Or rather, someone did. At the Marriott. You and him.”

Daniel’s face paled slightly. He ran a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Then tell me what it was.”
“I can’t—”

The words hung in the air, jagged and unfinished.

She laughed — low, bitter. “You always had a way of not being able to explain things, didn’t you?”

“Maya, listen to me,” he said, stepping closer. “He found me, not the other way around. He said he wanted to talk about the investment. I told him no. I told him this was mine—”
“But you still met him,” she cut in.

He exhaled hard. “I thought I could control it. Keep him out. But he’s not someone who takes ‘no’ easily.”

Her chest tightened. For a moment, she saw the boy he once was — desperate, trapped between loyalty and love. But then she remembered what that had cost her.

“Do you know what it feels like to be bought off, Daniel?” she said quietly. “To have someone put a price on your existence?”
His jaw clenched. “I was trying to protect you.”
“You were trying to protect yourself.”

The words landed like a slap. He didn’t deny it.

Outside, thunder rolled across the river. The rain began again, a steady rhythm against the food truck roof. Daniel looked at her, soaked in regret and silence.

Finally, she said, “This partnership — it’s over.”
“Maya, don’t—”
“Don’t what? Don’t walk away this time? That’s what you said ten years ago, remember?”

He opened his mouth, but she was already gone, stepping out into the storm.

That night, Daniel sat alone in his hotel room. The city hummed below — cars, laughter, the pulse of Portland that didn’t care about his ghosts. His phone buzzed: one message, one number he wished he’d blocked.

Richard Reeves: “Told you she’d never trust you. Come home, son.”

Daniel stared at it until the screen dimmed. He typed back nothing. Just silence.

Down the street, The Hungry Heart’s neon sign flickered in the rain. Inside, Maya sat with a cup of cold coffee, staring at the contract she hadn’t yet torn apart.

Anger was easier than heartbreak. But sometimes, they felt the same.

She wanted to hate him again, truly hate him — but all she felt was exhaustion. And something she didn’t want to name.

Outside, the wind pressed against the window like the echo of an old memory. Somewhere in that restless city, two people sat in the same silence — connected by everything unsaid.

And neither of them knew that the real storm hadn’t even begun yet.