Ben had replayed their brief conversation a dozen times in his head by the time he got back to his dorm.
Lizzy's voice lingered with him soft, careful, as though each word was weighed before it was released. "Some days are harder than others." It wasn't much, but it was more than she usually offered. And the fact that she trusted him with even that much felt like a thread he didn't want to break.
He leaned against his desk, running a hand through his hair. For weeks, he had watched from the outside, too afraid to step closer, too afraid to reveal how much she actually mattered to him. Funmi had been his bridge, his excuse. But today, Lizzy hadn't needed a bridge. She'd looked at him not through him, not past him, but at him and he'd felt it deep in his chest.
Ben wasn't naïve; he could see the shadows in her eyes, the heaviness she tried to mask. He didn't know the full story, but he knew enough to realize she was carrying something bigger than class assignments and exams. And he wanted no, needed to be someone she could lean on.
But fear still whispered at him.
What if he said the wrong thing? What if he pushed too hard, too fast? He'd spent most of his life retreating from vulnerability, and Lizzy's quiet strength both drew him in and terrified him.
Still, when he thought of the way she whispered "Thank you, Ben," he knew retreat wasn't an option anymore.
He pulled out his notebook, flipping past pages of class notes until he found a blank sheet. He wasn't great with words when it came to speaking, but maybe just maybe he could write. He started scribbling, not a love letter exactly, but something honest. Words that might remind her she wasn't invisible, that someone saw her even when she tried to fade into silence.
When he finished, he sat back and stared at the page. His chest tightened at the thought of actually giving it to her, but for the first time in a long while, Ben felt a fragile courage stirring inside him.
Maybe this was the start.