I stared down into my coffee cup, watching the froth on the top of the cappuccino I had ordered disappear as I stirred it mindlessly. It had been a long few years after I got home from Iceland. There was the usual friendship and high school romance, but nothing felt the same, Alison was still gone, and everyone had changed. Except for me. I had matured in Iceland, learnt the language and had my first real relationship, but when I returned to Rosewood it all went down the drain. I was the same awkward teenager that left.

After completing my allotted time at Rosewood Day it was back to Iceland, much to the dismay of the girls, who I of course Skyped endlessly and visited on holidays. I spent four years in Reykjavík at the University of Iceland, majoring in English, split between studying the literature I loved and writing, and this time hopefully not just for me.

Now I was back in Rosewood, a mere day after graduating. Nothing much had changed, the coffee shop still had the same furnishings and the college bar's 'menu' was identical. The girls however, had changed.

Spencer was in her final year of medicine at Harvard, and would have been the pride and joy of her parents had she not married Wren a week after turning eighteen in a whirlwind elopement. Melissa hadn't spoken to Spencer since the happy couple had announced they were seeing each other at one of the family dinners Veronica held frequently in the hope that inviting Wren would rekindle the relationship he once had with Melissa.

Hannah, instead of becoming a fashion designer, was an up and coming editor currently working with Harper's Bazaar in New York. She had realized that her dreams of sending models down the catwalks of London, Milan and Paris would turn her passion into a job after a semester of college majoring in fashion design. Luckily enough, one of her lecturers had seen her aptitude for journalism after reading one of Hannah's 'annotated' copies of Vogue (covered in sticky notes with suggestions) and recommended a journalism major.

Emily had stuck with swimming throughout college, and completed a sports psychology degree at Hollis, so that once she was out of the pool competitively, she was still involved in the sport she loved. Much to everyone's surprise she had also gotten married, in her third year of college, and now lived happily with her wife Samara, whom she had reconnected with in the halls of Hollis.

Once again, after a few brief flings in Iceland, I was in Rosewood sitting by myself. I took a sip of coffee only to realize that it was cold. With a presumably disgusted look on my face I put the tepid coffee into the bin behind me. A heard a laugh from behind me and looked over to see two grown men giggling at my cold coffee experience. I turned around and asked, "Do you laugh every time someone puts something into a bin?"

The taller of the two glanced at the other, and still laughing said, "It's a pity for you Ezra, all the cute ones are either taken or don't speak English."

The second, slightly shorter with piercing blue eyes and curly dark brown hair, quickly retorted, "Hardy, as if any female around here has ever looked at you seriously since you asked your lecturer why he was talking about Mexican porn during that lecture where he mentioned Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and it was put on Youtube."

My confusion over the statement about girls not speaking English quickly turned to embarrassment with the sudden realization I had spoken in Icelandic. I could feel my face turning pink, and keen to save myself from further embarrassment I made my way toward the counter to order another coffee. I was such a spaz, the first time I even try to speak to a guy in Rosewood I can't even manage to pick the right language. I ordered another coffee and turned around to see the shorter guy standing behind me in the line.

"I'm apologize about my friend. My name is Ezra. Sorrys about my poor Icelandic." Ezra apologized in terrible Icelandic, flashing me a nervous smile.

I felt sorry for him, I thought my Icelandic could be bad, and it was nice for him to apologize. I returned a similarly nervous smile. "It's okay I do speak English, it's just been a while since I've had to" I said.

Ezra looked relieved, "Thank God, because I don't remember much else in Icelandic, only how to ask where the bathroom is. You've obviously lived in Iceland for a while, are you from around here or on holidays?" he asked.

I heard my name called and picked up my coffee, and leaning on the counter replied, "Yeah, I grew up here, but spent a year in Iceland in high school then lived with my Aunt in Reykjavík while I went to university. I'm Aria by the way."

Ezra's name was called, so he picked up his coffee and turned around to face me, leaning on the counter as I did. "Great! I spent a semester in Reykjavík during the summer in the third year of my English degree. It was amazing."

I smiled, a few minutes of talking and we had commonalities. I picked off where he left, "No way, I majored in English too." He smiled, which was a good sign, so I continued, "Do you write? Creative writing courses were some of my favorite."

He looked at the floor for a second and hesitated before answering, "Um, yeah, I write. But most of the time it's a page or two which promptly ends up in the trash. I've written some short stories and poems, but I don't think they're ready from human consumption."

"Yeah, I understand, I write a lot, but I don't think I could bare having someone else look at my work. It feels so personal." I responded. I thought for a minute before asking "Maybe we could look over each other's work, if we promise not to show any other living soul."

"Pinkie swear?" he joked.

I giggled, "If necessary." A few minutes later and we had programmed our names, numbers and email addresses into each other's phones, and settled into a quiet corner. The conversation quickly turned back to Iceland. I wanted to know what had attracted Ezra to the perpetually frosty country, "So Ezra, why Iceland?" I questioned.

"Do you want the honest response, or the one I wrote on my application?" Ezra hesitantly replied.

I thought for a second, and asked myself if I really knew him well enough to require that kind of honesty from him. With a rush of uncertainty I decided on honesty, "Erm the honest answer, if it's not prying."

He smiled and suddenly looked melancholic, "Well, I'd been seeing this girl since freshman year and I thought I was in love with her. It was the end of the second semester in my third year and I went to her dorm room to surprise her with flowers. I found her in the arms of someone else. One of my friends at the time as it would happen. I didn't want to deal with the situation so I applied for exchange and left."

Feeling guilty for my curiosity I found myself saying, "I'm sorry, that must have been terrible."

"It's okay. You're actually the first person I've told. Telling everyone would probably make everything easier, people still ask why we don't get back together, but I can't bring myself to do it. Sorry for dumping my problems on you like that." He went to take another sip of his coffee and realized the mug was empty, so he placed it back on the table. He continued, "I bet you didn't go over there in a fit of escapism."

I bit my lip and looked into my coffee cup, still a quarter full. He had told me his story, so surely I should tell him mine. Hesitantly, I told him my reasons for leaving. "In my first year of high school my friend Ali disappeared. My Mom decided that getting away from Rosewood would do me some good. Despite what I said when she told me we were leaving, it actually did. I grew up a lot and I didn't have to worry about local newspapers calling and asking about Ali. When we came back nothing much had changed. Alison's body had been found, so now the phone calls were about what I thought of the possible murder suspects. Rosewood was driving me nuts, so once I finished high school it was back to Reykjavík."

Ezra looked a little dumbfounded, not knowing what to say back, but eventually managing to speak. "I'm sorry about your friend, it must have been hard."

Before either of us could say anything there was a rush of cold air as the coffee shop door opened and a tall, beautiful brunette woman strode toward the counter and demanded a type of coffee I had never even heard of complete with the newest and most popular low fat milk. She turned around to examine the shop and I noticed Ezra sink into his seat, trying to avoid her gaze.

"Ezzy!" she exclaimed, "You're back! You never called to let me know you were in Rosewood again. We should get a drink together, catch up."

Ezra looked like he was about to faint and spluttered, "Hi Jacks."

Suddenly her attention was on me. Now I felt like I was about to faint. She was pretty, and she was clearly after Ezra, I realized with an unexpected twang of jealousy. She left the coffee store before anything else was said, or in Ezra's case spluttered.

Ezra looked at me apologetically. "Was that her?" I asked.

He just nodded in reply and stared into his empty mug. After a few minutes he spoke, "Sorry about that, I haven't seen her in years. Last I heard she was somewhere in Texas lecturing."

I knew it wasn't his fault and was actually enjoying his company, but I certainly didn't want any other interruptions. So in a move of confidence, possibly caused by adrenaline, I moved my chair a little towards his. "We could always go somewhere a little more private, get to know each other a little better" I found myself saying.

Before I could say another word, or beat myself up over my clumsy advance, he had smiled and agreed, and said his place was just across the road. A minute later we were making our way over to his apartment.