For nearly four years, Elliot had existed inside a screen.

A voice during late-night calls.

A profile picture.

A collection of messages scattered across multiple versions of June's life.

Somehow, despite all the conversations, all the jokes, all the years, he had never become entirely real.

Until now.

The station was smaller than June expected.

She stepped off the train, adjusted the strap of her bag, and immediately regretted bringing so much luggage.

The trip had already been exhausting before it began.

A week of work.

Meetings.

Presentations.

Deadlines.

More deadlines.

And now this.

June pulled her suitcase across the platform and checked her phone.

One message.

Elliot.

"I'm outside."

Of course he was.

June smiled.

Then followed the signs toward the exit.

The afternoon air was cool.

Not cold.

Just enough to remind her she wasn't home.

People moved through the station in small groups. Some arriving. Some leaving. Everyone heading somewhere.

For a moment, she wondered if she would recognize him.

The thought lasted approximately three seconds.

Then she spotted him immediately.

Which felt unfair.

After four years, she had expected at least a little uncertainty.

Instead, the recognition was instant.

As if her brain had already decided long ago what Elliot looked like when he occupied actual space.

He was standing near the entrance with his hands in his pockets.

Waiting.

When he saw her, he smiled.

The same smile.

Somehow.

June stopped walking.

Elliot stared.

Then laughed.

The sound carried easily through the noise of the station.

"You're shorter than I expected."

June blinked.

Then immediately narrowed her eyes.

"That's the first thing you say?"

"I've waited four years."

"And that's what you came up with?"

"It felt important."

"It wasn't."

"It was to me."

June rolled her eyes.

The conversation felt absurdly familiar.

That was the first surprising thing.

Not his appearance.

Not his voice.

Not the fact that he was finally standing in front of her.

The familiarity.

The complete absence of awkwardness.

The complete absence of uncertainty.

She had expected a stranger.

Instead, it felt like continuing a conversation that had briefly been interrupted.

They walked toward a nearby café.

The city unfolded around them as they moved through narrow streets lined with old buildings and crowded terraces.

People filled the sidewalks.

Cyclists passed occasionally.

Someone was playing music somewhere nearby.

June glanced at Elliot.

Then glanced away again.

The situation still felt mildly ridiculous.

Four years.

Thousands of messages.

Hundreds of conversations.

And somehow this was the first time they had occupied the same piece of pavement.

"You keep looking at me."

June almost tripped.

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm making sure you're real."

Elliot laughed.

"Disappointed?"

"Maybe."

"Rude."

"A little."

The café was small.

The kind of place Elliot would choose.

Not particularly fashionable.

Not particularly impressive.

Comfortable.

They found a table near the window.

Ordered coffee.

Then spent twenty minutes talking about absolutely nothing important.

Travel.

Weather.

Train delays.

Terrible coffee.

The strange thing was how normal it felt.

Not exciting.

Not magical.

Normal.

June had expected some dramatic realization.

Some feeling.

Instead, she found herself wondering why she'd ever thought meeting Elliot would be unusual.

Of course he was like this.

Of course he laughed like that.

Of course he made terrible jokes.

The reality matched the version she'd carried in her head for years with almost suspicious accuracy.

At some point, Elliot disappeared briefly to collect their drinks.

June watched people moving outside the window.

Then her phone vibrated.

One email.

Then another.

Then a message.

Then a second message.

The familiar pressure returned immediately.

Work.

The reason she was here.

The reason she had taken the trip in the first place.

The reason she couldn't stay long.

By the time Elliot returned, she was already reading through documents.

He placed the coffee on the table.

Then paused.

June didn't notice.

Not immediately.

She was already halfway through an email.

Her expression had changed.

Focused.

Sharp.

Elsewhere.

The version of June that Elliot knew very well.

Not from meeting her.

From watching her.

For years.

The version that appeared whenever something mattered.

A few seconds later, she looked up.

"Sorry."

"No problem."

"I need to answer this."

"I know."

The answer was so immediate that she smiled.

Of course he knew.

He always did.

For several minutes, June worked while Elliot drank his coffee.

The conversation paused.

Not awkwardly.

Just naturally.

Like weather passing through.

When she finally finished, she put her phone down and sighed.

"Sorry."

"You already said that."

"I'm saying it again."

"You always do."

June laughed.

Then shook her head.

"You know, this is probably not what most people imagine after four years."

"What?"

"Meeting."

Elliot looked out the window.

Then back at her.

A small smile appeared.

The kind that vanished almost immediately.

"Maybe."

June waited.

The rest of the sentence never came.

Outside, the city continued moving.

Inside, coffee cooled slowly on the table.

And for the first time in nearly four years, neither of them existed behind a screen anymore.

Somehow, that felt significant.

Neither of them said so.

They didn't need to.