I think there are moments in life that sneak up on you quietly — no warnings, no lightning bolts — just a small shift in the air that changes everything.
It started with a movie night.
Lily had "accidentally" double-booked her evening, so somehow, I ended up watching Legally Blonde with Andre in my dorm common room. (I still suspect she did it on purpose.)
He showed up with a bowl of popcorn big enough to feed a small army and a grin that spelled trouble.
"Doctor, I heard this movie is a legal classic," he said, dropping onto the couch beside me.
"Only if your definition of 'classic' includes pink high heels and glitter pens," I replied.
"Hey, Elle Woods won her case," he countered. "Respect the process."
I rolled my eyes but smiled. He had that effect on me — making even my cynicism soften around the edges.
---
Somewhere halfway through the movie, I realized I was no longer watching it. His laughter — light and warm — filled the room, and when he leaned forward to grab more popcorn, his shoulder brushed mine. I froze.
He didn't move away.
Instead, he turned slightly, his voice dropping to that quiet tone he only ever used with me.
"You're staring, Doctor."
"I was not."
"You were." His grin widened. "Can't blame you, though."
I scoffed. "You're delusional."
He tilted his head. "Maybe. But you're still looking."
---
There was a pause — the kind that feels like a held breath. The movie kept playing, but all I could hear was the thud of my own heart.
Andre reached out, slow and unsure, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"Can I say something without you calling me dramatic?"
"No promises."
"I think…" He hesitated, eyes flicking to my lips and back. "…you're the most beautiful kind of problem I've ever had."
I wanted to laugh. I wanted to push him away. Instead, I whispered, "That was definitely dramatic."
And then — he kissed me.
Soft. Careful. Like he was afraid I'd disappear if he moved too fast.
It wasn't fireworks. It was something quieter — like the warmth of sunlight sneaking through cold mornings. When he pulled away, his eyes searched mine, as if waiting for a verdict.
I blinked once. "Puppy…"
"Yes?" he breathed.
"That was better than your lawyer jokes."
He laughed, the sound full and unguarded. "So… you're not going to sue me for stealing a kiss?"
"Only if you repeat the offense," I said, pretending to jot an imaginary note in the air.
He grinned, leaning closer. "Then I'm guilty, Doctor. Completely guilty."
And maybe, just maybe, so was I.
---
Tonight, I can still taste the salt of popcorn and something sweeter — the memory of Andre's first kiss.
If love had a beginning, maybe this was ours.