It’s a little before 9:00 PM, and I’m exhausted. It’s been an office day, and I caught up with a guy from New York visiting Melbourne. We met in Bangkok around New Year.

Summer is ending, but the nights are still warm. The windows on the tram are open, and the breeze just touches my face as we coast down the quiet road.

Not far from my stop, and the tram is less packed now, making it easier to see who is on. Fewer faces, less overwhelmed, and more calm.

I look at the end of the carriage and see a familiar face. For a moment, it doesn’t register. It’s my ex. He’s staring right back at me.

It’s been a little over two years since we broke up, and in that time, I have not seen him once. I used to wish I would bump into him. Not that I wanted to get back together, but part of me just wanted to make sure he still existed—no, part of me wanted to make sure he existed in the first place.

Over time, I forgot about wanting to bump into him. I forgot about some of the things I never thought I would forget about.

As our eyes locked, I wondered if I wanted to say hi to him, ask him how he’s been, if he is happy. But as instantly as these questions came into my mind, the answer was no. I didn’t want to say hi, ask him how he’s been, or if he is happy.

We must have stared for at least a minute before I realized it was my stop and quickly got off the tram.

Walking through the quiet street towards my apartment, I smiled to myself as I started to realize.