Threadless: A sequel or a rewrite?

It was the summer the air stopped pretending to be cool.

They sat side by side on the rooftop, legs dangling over the ledge like they didn't know what gravity could do. A bottle of soda between them. Two straws. One too many glances.

He had said, "This doesn't mean anything."

She had answered, "It's just a drink."

But the sun caught her eyes when she looked up.

And his hand almost brushed hers when he leaned closer.

And the silence that stretched after that was anything but nothing.

"You ever think about… what we'll be like next year?" he asked, casual like a lie.

She blinked. Then nodded slowly.

"I think," she said, voice smaller than usual, "I won't forget this."

He didn't answer. The soda fizzed between them, loud enough to count as a reply.

Then:

"If I said I liked you back then," he muttered, almost to himself, "would it have ruined everything?"

She froze.

And smiled — the kind that tried not to break.

"You just did."

He turned to her. Wide eyes. Shock. Hope. Fear.

And then she stood.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear it," she said, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. "So we can keep everything."

That was the moment it could've happened.

That was the almost.

Now, back in the present, behind the hallway corner… Kael quietly watches them.

He doesn't speak.

He doesn't tease.

But a tiny grin twitches at the corner of his lips.

"They still haven't changed," he whispers.