Talia had never invited someone over for something as mundane as "just studying." Not even her so-called friends. Her place wasn't exactly cozy—tiny kitchen, even tinier living room, textbooks stacked like Jenga towers on every available surface. Her version of comfort was a lava lamp, an old beanbag chair, and a fridge stocked with instant noodles and Red Bull.
But when Ezra knocked on her door that evening, carrying a worn laptop bag and two iced coffees, something inside her fluttered.
"Peace offering," he said, holding out her drink.
Talia eyed it suspiciously. "I'm more of a whiskey person."
"You're also more of a 'never text first' person, but here we are."
She took the drink anyway, smirking as she stepped aside to let him in. "Don't push your luck, Lane."
He wandered around, quiet but curious. She noticed the way he looked at the mess—not with judgment, but like he was trying to understand how someone lived in organized chaos.
"I like the plants," he said finally, gesturing to the collection of succulents crowding her windowsill.
"They're fake."
"Oh."
She grinned. "Still impressed?"
"Only mildly."
They set up on the floor, spreading notes and mock patient charts between them. For a while, things felt normal—comfortable, even. Ezra explained lab values with the ease of someone who'd memorized them in his sleep, and Talia actually listened instead of zoning out like usual.
"So," he said, scribbling something, "your differential diagnosis?"
She leaned back against the couch, stretching her legs toward him. "Clearly anemia. I mean, low hemoglobin, fatigue, pale skin, dizziness—"
"But which type?"
"Why are you always quizzing me?"
"Why are you always deflecting?"
Touché.
It wasn't long before the studying dissolved into something softer. The clinical terms gave way to laughter, inside jokes about professors, and subtle glances that lingered just a little too long.
"Remember when I thought 'tachycardia' was a dessert?" she asked, laughing into her coffee.
"You said, and I quote, 'Sounds Italian.'"
"Still does!"
He shook his head, smiling so wide it hurt to look at him.
Talia turned serious for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me about your dad?"
Ezra looked down at his hands. "I didn't want to make it an excuse."
"But it wasn't."
"I know that now. But at the time… everything was spinning. I left my phone in the hospital, barely got home in time to shower before class Monday. And then you were just… gone."
She didn't speak for a while. Guilt clawed at her ribs.
"I should've asked. Or waited. Or—I don't know—done anything other than jump to conclusions."
He met her eyes. "You did what you always do when you get scared."
Her brows furrowed. "And what's that?"
"Run."
Talia wanted to argue, but he wasn't wrong.
People always left. Her mom, halfway through middle school. Her first boyfriend, ghosted after she opened up. Even her childhood best friend, who stopped calling after graduation like it was nothing. She learned early that needing someone meant giving them the power to hurt you.
And Ezra? He snuck under her skin too fast.
"You scare me," she whispered, almost to herself.
Ezra looked surprised. "Me?"
"Yeah. You're stable. You believe in things. You… show up." She laughed nervously. "That's not my thing."
"Maybe it could be."
She stared at him, unsure whether she wanted to kiss him or kick him out.
They ordered pasta. Ate cross-legged on the floor like kids. She spilled tomato sauce on her hoodie and swore, and he laughed so hard he nearly choked.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was something.
When the clock hit 11:42, Ezra stood and stretched. "I should head out. Big quiz tomorrow, remember?"
Talia walked him to the door, suddenly unsure how to say goodbye.
"Thanks for coming over," she said, voice softer than it had been in weeks.
He lingered in the doorway. "Thanks for inviting me."
A pause.
Then, bravely: "I missed you."
Talia's heart thudded. Her tongue went dry. But she nodded.
"I missed you, too."
He reached up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like he had no right to. Like she might vanish if he moved too fast.
"I don't know what we are right now," she said.
"Neither do I."
"But I want to keep figuring it out."
Ezra smiled.
And then he kissed her—light, hesitant, nothing like the heat of their last encounter. This one was tender. Forgiving. A second chance pressed gently to her lips.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. "Don't run next time."
"Don't ghost next time," she whispered.
"Deal."
After he left, Talia stood at her window, watching the streetlights flicker like nervous stars. Her hoodie still smelled like pasta, her heart still racing from that kiss.
Maybe she didn't know where this was going.
Maybe it would end in flames.
But for the first time in a long while, she wanted to stay long enough to find out.