They weren't supposed to meet like this- on a swing, in a park, between coffee jitters and emotional damage. She wore a hoodie. He wore a smile that forgot things. And somewhere between the jokes, the near-death rescue, and the carved arrow... their story started telling itself again. Not everything was clear. Not every memory returned. But hearts? They tend to recognize each other- even when the brain hasn't caught up yet. And if an arrow appears- carved in wood, buried in stone- you follow it. Even if it leads straight back into the chaos.