I never thought studying could be… fun. Not until Andre showed up at the library with his ridiculously large law textbooks, a thermos of coffee, and that grin that makes my chest squeeze.
"You brought caffeine," I said, raising an eyebrow as he set it beside my anatomy notes.
"I brought reinforcements," he said, tapping his massive stack of books. "Law and medicine, together at last. Think of the chaos we could create."
I rolled my eyes but secretly loved that he thought he was funny. "Chaos is your specialty, Puppy."
"And I'm excellent at it," he replied, giving me a wink before flopping onto the chair beside me.
We spent the first hour teasing each other endlessly — him cracking lawyer jokes that somehow applied to my medical studies ("If your anatomy exam were a deposition, I'd object to the heart section for being too complicated") and me hitting back with medical puns he didn't understand at first ("Careful with that hand, I might prescribe a hug for carpal tunnel").
At some point, he leaned closer than necessary, and I felt my heart do that thing it always did around him. That small, fluttering leap that made me want to smirk but also melt.
"Vivian," he whispered, voice low, "do you always make me laugh this much, or is it just me?"
I smirked, tilting my head. "Oh, it's definitely you. Mostly your stupid lawyer jokes."
He pretended to look wounded. "Stupid? I'll have you know those are brilliant strategic arguments. Only the cleverest doctors could appreciate them."
I laughed so hard I almost dropped my pen.
---
After hours of study and laughter, we decided to take a break. Andre suggested we grab smoothies from the campus café, but I made him carry mine because "he owed me from the heart section pun." He groaned, but did it anyway — always eager to be my "puppy" in little ways that made my heart clench.
As we walked, his hand brushed mine. I didn't pull away. Instead, I let him lace his fingers with mine, slow and tentative, like he was checking if I'd object.
"Not objecting," I whispered, leaning a little closer.
His grin softened into something sweet, almost shy. "Good. Because I was hoping we could do this more often."
I nodded, smiling in spite of myself. "We'll see, Puppy. Don't get too confident yet."
He squeezed my hand. "Confidence is my middle name. Okay, fine — it's actually André. But you get the point."
---
By the end of the day, my notes were half-completed, my muscles were stiff, and my cheeks hurt from laughing. But as we parted near the library steps, he leaned in just slightly and whispered,
"Same time tomorrow?"
I nodded. "Same time tomorrow, Puppy."
And as he walked away, I realized — three months in, he'd completely stolen my focus. Not with grand gestures or forced drama, but with small, persistent, perfectly gentle moments that made my chest flutter, my walls soften, and my heart… alive.
I might not say it yet, not the "L" word, but I think my diary has already written it for me.