The next day should have been ordinary.
Classes. Assignments. Friends chattering around her.
But nothing felt ordinary anymore—not after last night, not after the look in his eyes when he said "okay."
She checked her phone more often than usual.
Not to cling—just to reassure herself that the fragile thread between them was still there.
At 11:42 AM, her phone vibrated.
HIM: Did you eat?
Her lips curved immediately.
HER: Not yet. You?
HIM: Barely. Meeting ran late.
HIM: Don't skip lunch.
She typed quickly:
HER: Are you worried?
There was a pause.
Then:
HIM: Yes.
She stared at the screen, warmth blooming in her chest like sunlight after winter rain.
But before she could reply, her friend poked her shoulder.
"You're smiling like you just won the lottery," her friend teased. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she lied quickly, locking her phone.
Because this wasn't something she could share easily.
This was delicate.
Uncertain.
Dangerous in a way only feelings could be.
And yet—every hour made her want to see him more.
She didn't know he was thinking the same.