Wednesday, Mid-December — Between Classes
MICHELLE (POV)
Steven was waiting for me again.
Of course he was.
It was becoming a familiar sight: him leaning against the railing outside my building, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression unreadable to everyone else but instantly decipherable to me.
Except today…
He wasn't unreadable.
Not to me.
Today he looked like he was holding something tightly under his skin — a kind of taut calm, like a string pulled too far back on a bow.
Dangerous. Controlled.
But when he saw me?
His eyes softened.
Just a fraction.
Just enough for my chest to tighten in ways I was still learning to understand.
I stepped out of the lecture hall, tucked my notebook into my bag, and walked toward him.
"Hey," I said quietly.
He straightened instantly.
"Michelle."
Just that — my name — but something in it made me feel… lighter.
Protected.
Wanted.
"Walk me to the garden?" I asked. "I have a thirty-minute break before next class."
