There was no accidental shoulder bump,
      no spilled coffee,
      no awkward but endearing argument

      over who had the seat first.

No montage.

No running through airports.

No mistaken identity,
   no karaoke confession.

No sudden downpour just as I realize…
   what I should have known all along.

There was a chat window.

A few song links.

An eyebrow raise at just the right text.

There were long pauses
    that didn’t mean anything

    …except…

    we were living real lives.

There was a slow build.

A careful reveal.

Nothing scripted.

Nothing timed for commercial break.

No zany best friends pushing us together.

No grand misunderstanding
   needing a public apology

   in front of a live audience or a wedding.

Just… messages.
          Sent.
      Received.
  Responded to.
With intention.

We didn’t fall into each other’s arms in Act Two.

We sat on opposite sides of a continent,
    talking until the page

    became something else entirely.

I didn’t rescue you
    from a terrible date,
    didn't interrupt your wedding,
    didn't hold up a sign in baggage claim…

    didn't win you over with a boombox outside your window.

I just… showed up. (over and over)

In voice notes. (when I could)

In stupid jokes. (but you laughed anyway)

In ramblings. (I pretended not to edit)

In that selfie from Don's you claimed you loved. (the grey t-shirt, crooked smile)

And somehow—
    you stayed.

That’s not a Hollywood ending.

It's better.

Because it’s still playing.

Because it’s still *ours*—
    written in lower case,
    edited only in real time…

    and impossible to rewind.