When Your Name Found Mine
Chapter Four — Almost
By Friday, campus had settled into that strange mix of energy and exhaustion that always comes before midterms. People rushed past each other in the quad, heads bent over notes, earbuds in, coffee cups in hand.
I spotted Dave Moreno before he saw me. He was sitting on the low brick wall near the clock tower, sketchbook open on his lap, pencil moving in quick, sure strokes. The late afternoon sunlight caught in his hair, and for a moment I almost forgot I wasn't supposed to be staring.
When he finally looked up, his face lit in recognition. "Hey, Evelyn."
I walked over, trying to keep my voice casual. "What are you working on?"
"Design project," he said, angling the sketchbook toward me. "We have to reimagine a campus landmark. I picked the clock tower."
The page was filled with clean lines, the tower taller and sleeker than it looked now, surrounded by wide steps where people could sit.
"It's… really good," I said, and I meant it.
"Thanks." He tucked the pencil behind his ear. "What about you? Where are you headed?"
"Library. I have a psych paper due Monday."
He smirked. "Let me guess — you're procrastinating by finding reasons to walk across the prettiest part of campus instead of going straight there."
I laughed. "Maybe."
And there it was again — that way he noticed small things, like in the café with the blueberry muffins. Details that felt too observant to be casual.
Before I could say anything else, a gust of wind rustled through the trees, scattering yellow leaves across the pavement. One landed on the edge of his sketchbook, and he brushed it away without looking down.
"You want to grab coffee before you hit the library?" he asked. "I could use a break."
---
We ended up back at the campus café, the same corner table as last time. The rain from earlier had left streaks on the windows, and the smell of espresso clung to the air.
"So," he said after taking a sip, "tell me something you've never told anyone here."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's… a big request."
"Doesn't have to be deep," he said, smiling. "Just something that's yours."
I thought for a moment. "Okay. My first semester here, I got lost trying to find the psychology building and accidentally walked into a senior-level economics lecture. I was too embarrassed to leave right away, so I sat through the whole thing and pretended to take notes."
He laughed, the kind of laugh that makes you want to say something else just to hear it again. "Please tell me you at least learned something."
"Not a word. I think I still have the fake notes somewhere."
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's good. See, you wouldn't get that in architecture — we're all too busy arguing over building materials to notice if someone new walks in."
There was an ease between us I wasn't sure how to name. And every so often, my gaze would drift to his hands — steady, deliberate, the same way they must have been when writing that letter.
---
When we left, the sun had dipped low, the campus bathed in that gold-pink light that makes even the library look romantic.
We walked together across the quad, our steps slow, unhurried.
"Hey," he said suddenly, "are you going to the Fall Fair tomorrow?"
"I don't know," I said. "I've got that paper—"
"You should go. It's not all rides and fried food. There's live music. Bonfire at night. Feels… different. Like campus slows down for a minute."
The way he said it made me want to say yes immediately. But I hesitated.
"I'll think about it," I said, trying not to sound too eager.
"Good," he said with a small smile. "I'll be there."
---
That night, back in my dorm, I sat at my desk with the letter spread out in front of me. The words blurred a little as I read them for what felt like the hundredth time.
I think about the way you used to laugh when the rain hit the glass…
It could still be coincidence. Just because Dave Moreno noticed blueberry muffins and asked questions that made me want to tell him things didn't mean he had written this.
But the idea that he might have — that possibility — made my chest feel tight in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
Kayla came in halfway through my spiral and flopped onto her bed. "So, did you see him today?"
I tried to keep my tone neutral. "We got coffee."
She grinned like she'd already decided how this was going to end. "You're going to the Fall Fair with him, aren't you?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
---
The next day was bright and cold, the kind of weather that made everyone dig out sweaters they hadn't worn since last year. I told myself I was only going to the Fall Fair because I needed a break from studying.
But when I saw Dave near the bonfire, his face lit by the flickering flames, I knew I'd been lying to myself.
"Hey," he said, holding out a paper cup. "Hot cider."
I took it, the warmth seeping into my hands. Around us, people laughed, music drifted from the stage, and the air smelled faintly of woodsmoke.
We stood there, shoulders almost touching, watching sparks rise into the night sky.
And in that moment — with the firelight on his face and the sound of distant rain beginning to patter against the fairground tents — I thought, Maybe this is how it starts.
Maybe the letter wasn't just a mistake.
Maybe it was the beginning of something I didn't even know I'd been waiting for.