It was exactly three years ago, my last semester at my old school before I transferred here. I’d broken up with this guy after just a month of dating, and we hadn’t spoken since. He hadn’t taken it seriously, and I wasn’t about to waste my time on someone who barely tried. After that, I didn’t see him or really think about him much, until I ran into him at a Halloween party. We talked a little, just casual catching up, and he even apologized again for how he’d acted. I cut him off; that was all in the past. I told him I’d be leaving at the end of the semester and mentioned that I should give him his hoodie back, the one I’d kept all this time. But he just shrugged and said I could keep it as something to remember him. But I was thinking the opposite.

A few days later, I went to his apartment, wearing that hoodie. He looked surprised but didn’t hesitate to invite me in. I looked him in the eyes and said “I should give this back” then slowly pulled it over my head. His eyes followed every movement, lingering as I let the hoodie slip from my hands to the floor. I reached for his shirt, tugging it off him before he could say a word, and in seconds we were pulling each other closer, falling into old habits in his tiny studio apartment. The air felt charged, every touch somehow both familiar and electric. His hands found my waist as he lifted my tank top, and the next thing I knew, we were tangled up in his bed, completely lost in each other. It was intense, almost desperate, like we were both holding onto something we knew wasn’t really there.

Afterward, I got dressed, left his hoodie on the bed, and told him goodbye. For me, it was closure, a final reminder of a past I was ready to let go. And for him, I left behind something to remember me.