She spotted him, for the first time in months, from across the street, outlined in halogen white and haloed with cigarette smoke.

Anne hadn’t stopped seeing him intentionally. She’d gotten busy, and gotten poorer, and suddenly idling away her nights in the back of a dive bar, no matter how cheap the drinks were, or how good the company, lost its glow. And that really made him sound like better company than he really was.

Nothing ever changed about Jude. Standing under the streetlight smoking, it could have been any night in the last year that she’d known him. Same black jeans, same curious white linen shirt, same burnt black hair.

She crossed, finally, and approached him. Same eyes, still and wide, blinking slowly at her. Same slow nod.

“Anne”, he said, simply. No recriminations or questions. Never any questions.

“Hiya Jude”, quietly. “Long time no see.”

He doesn’t respond to that.