Joe Kimbreau stood on the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulder, the cheers of the crowd washing over him like a wave. The spotlight was warm, the moment electric, yet his mind was far from the present. As he strummed the final chord of his song, his eyes scanned the audience for a face he knew wouldn't be there—Jenny Banks. It had been years since their paths diverged, but she still lingered in his mind, a memory that refused to fade.
The lyrics of Taylor Swift's "The Very First Night" ran through Joe's head as he smiled at the crowd, masking the bittersweet ache in his chest:
"I wish I could fly, I'd pick you up and we'd go back in time."
Later, back in his dressing room, Joe sat alone, the hum of the concert still echoing in his ears. He picked up his phone, scrolling through old photos he hadn't been able to delete—images of him and Jenny from college, back when life was simpler and every decision felt full of endless possibilities.
The knock on the door startled him, and his manager, Eric Payne, peeked in. "You good, man? The afterparty's waiting."
Joe shook his head, forcing a smile. "I'll pass. Just need some time."
Eric nodded, understanding but persistent. "Take it easy, but don't get stuck in your head too long. You've got a good thing going here."
As the door clicked shut, Joe leaned back in his chair, the weight of his choices pressing down on him.
Years earlier, Joe had stood at a crossroads. Three different futures had stretched before him: one where he pursued his dream of music, one where he stayed close to home with Jenny and built a life together, and one where he chose the steady path of a career in nursing. Each choice had felt monumental, but none had been perfect.
Now, as a successful musician, Joe often wondered what could have been. His dream had come true, but it had cost him the love he thought he'd never lose.
One night, after a late show in New York, Joe wandered the city streets, his mind replaying moments from the past. He found himself outside a coffee shop where he and Jenny used to meet during college. The place had changed, but the memories flooded back as vividly as ever.
He pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over her name in his contacts. It had been months since they last spoke—an awkward, stilted conversation that left him feeling more distant from her than ever. Finally, he texted:
"Hey, in the city. Want to catch up?"
To his surprise, her response came quickly:
"Sure. Tomorrow?"
The next day, Joe arrived at the café early, nerves twisting in his stomach. When Jenny walked in, he felt like he was seeing her for the first time all over again. She looked the same but different—more confident, more self-assured, but still the Jenny he had loved.
"Joe," she said, her smile warm but cautious.
"Hey," he replied, standing to hug her. The embrace was brief but charged with unspoken history.
They sat down, the silence between them stretching for a moment before Jenny broke it. "So, a rock star now, huh?"
Joe chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something like that. And you? Still saving lives?"
Jenny nodded. "Pediatrics now. It's… fulfilling."
"That's great," Joe said sincerely. "You always wanted that."
They talked for hours, the conversation swinging between lighthearted reminiscing and deeper reflections on the paths they'd chosen. But beneath it all, there was an undercurrent of what they weren't saying—what they'd lost.
As the evening wore on, Joe finally broached the subject that had been weighing on him. "Do you ever think about… what could've been? If things had gone differently?"
Jenny's smile faltered, and she looked down at her coffee. "Sometimes. But I try not to dwell on it. We made our choices, Joe. And I'm happy… mostly."
"Mostly?" Joe pressed, his heart pounding.
Jenny hesitated, then met his gaze. "It's hard not to wonder. We were good together, but we wanted such different things. You had your music, and I had… well, everything else."
Joe leaned forward, his voice low. "I never stopped thinking about you, Jenny. Not once."
Her breath hitched, but she shook her head. "You can't say things like that, Joe. Not now."
"Why not?" he asked, desperation creeping into his tone. "We're here, right? Doesn't that mean something?"
Jenny's eyes filled with tears, but she stood, her voice steady despite the crack in it. "It means we cared. It means we still do. But it doesn't change anything."
Joe watched her leave, the weight of her words settling over him like a storm. That night, he poured his emotions into a song, the lyrics a reflection of his longing and regret. It wasn't enough to fix what was broken, but it was all he had.
"I wish I could fly. I'd pick you up and we'd go back in time."
Months later, Joe found himself back in New York for another show. This time, he didn't text Jenny. He knew better now—knew that some things were better left in the past, even if they still haunted the present.
But as he stood on stage, singing the song he'd written for her, he scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of her. He didn't see her, but a part of him knew she was out there somewhere, living her life, just as he was trying to live his.
The lyrics of "The Very First Night" echoed in his mind as he played the final chords:
"I'd go back to the very first night."
Because even though their paths had diverged, the memory of Jenny and the love they shared would always be with him—a bittersweet reminder of what once was and what could never be again.