He leaned against the railing for a moment, watching her disappear toward the dorms.
The campus was empty now. Quiet. Too quiet.
His mind, though, wasn't.
The scholarship. The list. One spot away. The thought clawed at him again, sharper than it had all day.
Every pass on the soccer field. Every study session. Every choice he had made… had it been enough?
He shook his head. Not now. Not here.
Her laughter—or was it just a quiet chuckle to herself—drifted from the dorm window.
It should have been comforting.
Instead, it pulled at him.
He remembered when she used to chase every little thing he did, asking questions, teasing. Curious. Loud. She had changed. Matured.
And somehow… that made him realize how much he missed the simplicity of before.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with the ache he couldn't name.
He had wanted to protect her all day. Always. Subtle gestures. Silent reminders.
But now… seeing her so far away, untouchable, it left him hollow.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over her name.
No message. No text.
Not yet. Not needed.
He shoved it back.
Some things… he decided, were meant to be watched. Felt. Known without words.
He turned toward the empty soccer field. The late sun was lowering, painting the grass gold.
He could practice. Focus. Run. Beat the frustration down with movement and sweat.
But part of him—part he didn't admit even to himself—wanted her to turn back, to glance his way, to notice him waiting.
He knew she would. Eventually.
And for now, he stayed quiet.
Always.
⸻
He finally started walking to the dorms.
The hallway was quiet. Almost too quiet.
He found her room. Knocking softly, he stepped in.
No words at first. Just presence.
She looked at him, eyes curious.
He held up a small grocery bag.
"Food," he said quietly.
She blinked. "Already? "
"No, I'll cook here" he said. Flat. Certain. Enough.
The kitchen was small, but he didn't mind.
He unpacked. Measured. Sautéed. Stirred. Simple steps. Precise.
She watched. Silent. Observant.
Every move careful. Every glance toward her subtle. Protective.
Steam rose. The smell filled the room. Warm. Comforting.
He plated the food. Neatly.
She took a bite. Eyes widened slightly.
"This… is really good," she said softly.
He didn't smile. Just nodded.
Flat. Calm. Certain.
She looked at him again. Waiting for words.
None came.
Not needed.
Every subtle gesture, every movement, said it all.
Minutes passed. Quiet. Comfortable.
He washed dishes. She sat at the table. Watching. Relaxing.
Finally, she spoke.
"You didn't have to do all this," she said.
"I know," he said quietly.
A pause.
"But I want to," he added.
No flourish. No drama. Just truth.
She nodded, small smile tugging at her lips.
It should have been enough. It was.
The sun sank lower. Light slanted through the blinds.
He leaned against the counter, watching her quietly.
He could feel her trust.
He could feel himself… letting go of everything else for a moment.
No scholarship. No frustration. No expectations.
Just her.
Quiet. Calm. Present.
Her hand brushed against his when she reached for a glass.
He didn't pull away.
A soft squeeze. Mutual understanding.
Not everything needed to be explained.
Not everything needed to be loud.
Some things were meant to be felt.
Some things were meant to be quiet reminders.
And he would always be there.
Not in grand gestures. Not in dramatic words.
But in these moments.
Always.
Even if she didn't say it. Even if the world didn't notice.
Even when it was just her and him.