It's been three months since that night — the popcorn, the movie, and the kiss that flipped my world upside down. I'm still pretending I'm not completely gone for him. Keyword: pretending.
Andre, on the other hand, acts like we've been together forever. He's the type to send good-morning texts before I'm even awake and to bring me coffee during my 8 a.m. anatomy class — the one he doesn't even take.
"Doctors run on caffeine," he says every time, handing me my cup with that stupidly cute grin.
"And lawyers run on chaos," I always reply.
"Then we're a perfect match," he'll add, winking like it's the closing argument of a case he's sure to win.
Sometimes I hate how easily he wins them.
---
Lily teases me about him nonstop.
"He's got you smiling at your phone again, Viv. What's the diagnosis this time — chronic infatuation?"
"Jealousy," I shoot back. "You should get that checked."
She throws a pillow at me, laughing. "Fine, but when he starts quoting law books in bed, don't say I didn't warn you."
I'd be lying if I said I didn't blush.
Lily's been happy for me — mostly. I can tell she misses our old routines, the nights we'd spend watching shows and overanalyzing every male character. Now, half the time I'm on the phone with Andre, listening to him rant about "constitutional incompetence" or something that sounds equally dramatic.
But she's still there. Always there. That's the thing about Lily — she never leaves, even when she pretends she wants to.
---
Andre and I have our spots.
There's the bench near the old campus fountain where he confessed he liked me — the same place we now meet after classes. There's the café by the law building where I pretend to study while he argues with his friends about court cases.
And there's our spot — the library corner by the window.
We don't even talk much there. He studies his case briefs; I memorize my anatomy charts. Occasionally, he looks up, grins, and whispers something dumb like,
"Doctor, you make me want to fail just so you can treat my heartbreak."
And I reply without looking up,
"Then I'll prescribe silence. Stat."
---
I don't know what this is turning into, but I know how it feels — steady, real, and warm.
I still wake up some days feeling like I don't deserve it, like something inside me is too broken to hold something this gentle. But then Andre will text,
> "Puppy reporting in. Just wanted to say I love my favorite doctor."
And somehow, it gets easier to breathe again.