The next morning didn't feel like a regular morning.
She woke earlier than usual, sunlight barely stretching across her room. Her phone was still in her hand from last night, where their final messages lingered like a secret warmth.
His last words:
"Get some sleep. And… good night."
The hesitation in that last phrase still made her smile.
She got ready for the day, but she kept glancing at her phone, wondering if he was awake, wondering if she should message him first. She didn't want to seem clingy, yet she couldn't ignore the way her heart tugged toward him.
Just as she tied her hair back—
Her phone vibrated.
Her breath stalled.
Him:
"Good morning."
Simple. Calm.
But it sent a rush of lightness through her.
She typed back immediately.
"Morning."
Then—
"Did you sleep well?" he asked.
Her smile softened.
"I did. You?"
"I'm still tired."
She frowned slightly.
"Why?"
The reply came after a longer pause.
"Because I kept thinking about you."
Her knees nearly gave out.
She sat on the edge of her bed, pressing a hand to her chest. The intensity of his attention—gentle but undeniable—wrapped around her like invisible arms.
She typed carefully.
"In a good way?"
"In a way I can't ignore anymore."
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
Before she could reply, another message appeared.
"Are you free this afternoon? I want to see you."
Her whole morning instantly brightened.
They met near a quiet café tucked away from the busy streets. He arrived before her, leaning against his car with one hand in his coat pocket, the breeze ruffling his hair slightly.
When he saw her, something softened in his expression—so subtle most people wouldn't notice, but she did.
"Hi…" she said, breathless though she had walked slowly.
"Come here," he replied gently.
He didn't touch her—not yet—but he stepped closer, guiding her with his presence alone until they were only inches apart.
"You look tired," he murmured.
"You messaged me too early," she teased.
His lips curved faintly. "I couldn't wait until afternoon."
She looked down shyly. "You really wanted to see me?"
He nodded. "More than I should."
Her chest fluttered.
They went inside the café, choosing a quiet corner by the window. The soft hum of background music filled the space. He ordered her favorite drink without asking—he remembered.
"You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," he said simply.
She watched him, the way he sat a little straighter when he sensed her eyes on him, the way he looked at her like she was something he still couldn't fully believe was real.
After a moment, he sighed softly.
"There's something I need to tell you."
Her heart instantly tensed. "What is it?"
"Yesterday… when I said I'm thinking about us, I wasn't exaggerating."
He looked down at his coffee, then back at her. "I think about you more than I should. More than is appropriate. And I keep trying to slow myself down."
She swallowed. "Do you want to slow down?"
He shook his head.
"Honestly? No."
Her breath caught.
"But I'm afraid of rushing you," he said. "Afraid of becoming too important too fast."
She reached across the table, touching his hand lightly. "You already are."
His eyes flickered—something like relief mixed with something deeper.
"You're sure?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
He turned his hand over, letting her fingers slide into his. His grip was warm, protective.
"I want to do this right," he murmured. "I want to be someone you can trust."
"You already are."
He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders.
"You have no idea," he said softly, "how much I care about you."
She felt that care in the way he held her hand. In the way he watched her. In the way he breathed around her.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
But it was real.
Stronger than yesterday.
Closer than yesterday.
He lifted their intertwined hands slightly.
"Stay for a while?" he asked.
She smiled.
"I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes softened—completely.
"Good," he said. "Neither am I."