Hannah
It's been five years since I last saw Zane Asher.
Five years since that summer in LA when everything I thought I knew about myself unravelled in the span of a few weeks. I should have moved on by now. I tell myself I have—most days, I even believe it. But every once in a while, a memory slips through the cracks, unexpected and uninvited, like a song you didn't realize you had on your playlist until it starts playing.
I tap my pen against the edge of my desk, staring at the floor plan for a luxury flat I'm supposed to pitch to a client tomorrow. The sleek, minimalist lines of the drawing remind me of how much I've changed since those days. After graduating with a degree in business, I took a leap into real estate, and now I'm one of the youngest agents at the firm to handle high-end properties. Mia and I share a cozy flat in London—not quite the sprawling penthouse I sell to my clients, but it's home.
The sound of her laughter floats in from the living room, where she's binging some dating show. Mia hasn't changed much—still my rock, still the friend who knows me better than I know myself.
I pick up my phone to check my emails, but my thumb hesitates over the screen. Instead, I open Instagram. It's a bad habit I've been trying to break, but curiosity always wins.
And there it is, right in my feed: Zane Asher Spotted with New Flame.
The headline is paired with a photo of him at some exclusive event, his arm draped casually around a leggy blonde who could have stepped straight off a runway. Her smile is all teeth and perfection, the kind of smile that screams she knows exactly what she's doing.
I exhale sharply and toss the phone onto my desk, as if that will erase the image from my mind. I shouldn't care. God knows I've seen dozens of articles like this over the years. He's Zane Asher—the guy's practically allergic to commitment.
But it still stings. Not because I expected anything different from him, but because I remember the way he looked at me back then, like I was the only girl in the world. For a brief moment, I'd been foolish enough to believe it.
I push my chair back and stand, stretching to shake off the ache settling in my chest. I've come too far to let this drag me down. I'm not the same wide-eyed girl I was at nineteen.
"Everything okay?" Mia calls from the living room.
"Yeah," I reply, my voice steady. "Just wrapping up some work."
She doesn't push, and I'm grateful for that. Sometimes, the best kind of friend is the one who knows when to leave things alone.
I walk to the window and peer out at the city lights. London has a way of grounding me, its endless hum a reminder that life goes on no matter what.
Maybe one day, I'll stop looking for him in the corners of my mind. Maybe I'll wake up and find that the space he once occupied is empty, ready to be filled with something new.
But tonight, as the city buzzes around me, I let myself remember—just for a moment.
Because five years later, a part of me still wonders if he ever thinks about me too.
I shook my head, as if I could physically shake the thought of Zane loose from my mind. Dwelling on the past wouldn't change anything, and tonight wasn't the night to spiral.
Pushing away from the window, I made my way into the living room. Mia glanced up from the TV, a knowing smirk already on her face. "Let me guess," she said, muting the show. "Another article about him?"
I groaned. "Is it that obvious?"
"You've got that look," she said, twirling a piece of her hair. "The one that says you're thinking about all the ways you'd tell him off if you ever saw him again."
I laughed despite myself. "I wouldn't waste my breath."
"Good," Mia said, hopping up and grabbing my hands. "Because tonight, we're going out. No excuses."
"Mia—"
"Nope," she interrupted. "You need it. I need it. We both deserve a night to let loose, drink overpriced cocktails, and dance until our feet hurt. Come on, Hannah, you can't say no to that."
I hesitated, but the pleading look in her eyes—and the truth in her words—wore me down. "Fine," I relented, "but if the cocktails are too overpriced, you're paying."
"Deal!" she chirped, already heading to her room to get ready.
Two hours later, we were stepping into a new rooftop bar Mia had heard about, a place buzzing with the kind of energy only London nightlife could provide. The space was chic and modern, with panoramic views of the city and a DJ spinning tracks that made it impossible to stay still.
Mia wasted no time pulling me toward the bar, her excitement contagious. "Two margaritas," she told the bartender with a wink.
As we waited for our drinks, I let my gaze wander. The crowd was a mix of polished professionals and stylish twenty-somethings, all blending seamlessly into the vibrant backdrop.
That's when I saw him.
Not Zane.
But someone I recognized immediately: Logan Wright, the actor whose face was plastered on every movie poster and streaming ad these days.
He was leaning casually against the bar just a few feet away, deep in conversation with a friend. Tall, with tousled dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass, he was impossible to miss.
Mia followed my gaze and nudged me hard. "Is that who I think it is?" she whispered.
"Yeah," I said, trying not to stare.
As if sensing the attention, Logan glanced in our direction. Our eyes met, and I quickly looked away, heat rushing to my cheeks.
"You're blushing!" Mia hissed, barely containing her excitement.
"Am not," I muttered, but the lie was weak, even to my own ears.
Before I could make a graceful exit, Logan pushed off the bar and started walking toward us. My stomach flipped as he stopped right in front of me, a disarming smile on his lips.
"Hi," he said, his voice smooth and self-assured. "I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. You looked... out of place. In a good way."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Um, thanks?"
Mia stifled a laugh behind me, and I resisted the urge to elbow her.
"I'm Logan," he said, extending a hand.
"Hannah," I replied, shaking it. His grip was firm but not overwhelming, his touch warm against my skin.
"Nice to meet you, Hannah," he said, his eyes locking onto mine in a way that felt... intentional.
I wasn't sure what to say next, but Mia, ever the social butterfly, stepped in. "She's a real estate agent," she blurted, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Really? I might need your help soon. I've been thinking about buying a place here in London."
"Well," I said, finding my voice, "if you're looking for someone who knows the market, I'm your girl."
