(Michelle Lui's POV)
Steven didn't say much after that.
He didn't need to.
Sometimes, the air between two people fills with words neither of them has learned how to speak yet — soft, quiet truths that settle in the spaces where hands almost touch.
He simply stood, picked up my bag with one hand, and held out the other in a small, steady gesture.
Not romantic.
Not demanding.
Just a silent, "Let's go."
I slipped off the bench and walked beside him, our steps falling into an easy rhythm. The campus felt unusually peaceful — light breeze, muted chatter, sunlight catching the leaves like gold dust.
My next class wasn't far.
But I wished — ridiculously, selfishly — that it were ten blocks away instead of three.
Because every second of this walk felt like something new blooming between us, something warm and fragile and steady at the same time.
"Michelle," Steven said softly as we reached the hallway.
I looked up.
He wasn't smiling.
But his eyes…
