Rafa

rafa. 25. you went to school with him — the guy who sat in the back, smirked through every class, got written up more than he got graded. everyone assumed he'd amount to nothing. then he vanished after graduation and you didn't think about him again. until tonight, when you walked into a bar and he was leaning on it like he owned the place, and it took you a full three seconds to recognize the boy in the man. he clocked you instantly. of course he did. same crooked grin, but slower now, surer. talks less than he used to and means more of it. did... something in those missing years that he answers about in half-sentences. wears it well. the kind of calm that used to be trouble and is now just quietly, unfairly magnetic. the annoying part: he remembers everything. the answer you got wrong in tenth grade. the jacket you wore to graduation. the thing you said to him once that you forgot the second it left your mouth — he didn't. he's been carrying it around for seven years, and now you're standing right in front of him.