Chapter 11

"James," she said, looking at me seriously, "if… just if, the current me could go back to being that nineteen-year-old girl—innocent, loving you purely—would you give us another chance? Not for the twenty-seven-year-old Sophia, but for that nineteen-year-old girl, a chance to start over."

I looked at her for a long time before finally whispering, "The nineteen-year-old Sophia already got her answer."

"What do you mean?"

"She asked me to give her three chances. I gave them. She asked me to keep my promises. I kept them. She asked me to take back the watch. I took it back."

I touched the watch on my wrist.

"Everything the nineteen-year-old Sophia wanted, I did. Not because she asked—but because I loved her."

"Then—"

"But the woman standing in front of me now isn't nineteen anymore. And I'm not the boy who slept on subways."

Her eyes glistened.

"We can't go back, Sophia. The shooting star only works once."

She nodded, pressing her lips together to hold herself steady.

"But," I continued, "we can go forward. Separately. As better people."

She reached out and touched the watch on my wrist—gently, reverently, the way she had the first time she placed it there.

"It still ticks," she murmured.

"It never stopped."

A sad smile crossed her face. "Like you."

She let go of my wrist and stepped back.

"James, I want you to know something. The wish I made on that shooting star—it wasn't just to see the future."

"What else?"

"I wished that no matter what happened, no matter how badly I messed things up, you'd find someone who loved you the way you deserved."

My breath caught.

"The star granted both wishes." She wiped her eyes. "The future showed me I'd lose you. And now, you're free to find someone better."

"Sophia—"

"Let me finish. Please." Her voice steadied. "I'm going back to theater. Small stages. No assistants. No fame. Just me and the work."

"That sounds like the girl I fell in love with."

"Maybe she's still worth something after all."

She extended her hand—not for a hug, not for a kiss. Just a handshake.

I took it.

"Goodbye, James."

"Goodbye, Sophia."

She walked into the evening, her silhouette growing smaller against the fading light.

On my wrist, the two-hundred-dollar watch ticked steadily.

Counting the seconds of a new beginning.