He knew this was closure. He told himself it was. They were saying goodbye, they would part ways, she would get married. Nothing was starting—there was no after, no see you soon. This was their moment to say what needed to be said and move on with their lives.

So why did it feel like an old wound was being torn open?

He found himself struggling to keep his breathing even as she extracted herself from his arms. He allowed him one long, painful second to mourn the end of the embrace, his gaze glued to her feet as if it would help stop his eyes from glassing over.

"Okay," he whispered, sounding hoarse and miserable and every way that he hadn't wanted to sound while saying goodbye—because this was goodbye. He reached out on impulse, letting the tips of his fingers brush against her wrist. "Good luck."

---