They never said "forever."
But everything they did felt like it.
Kael started waiting for her outside her class. Not because he had to. Just because he wanted to see her face before the day got heavy.
Elia started sketching him more. Not directly—just shadows, silhouettes, the curve of his hoodie, the way his eyes looked when he was thinking too hard.
They shared playlists. Inside jokes. Half-eaten fries.
They shared silence, too. The kind that felt safe.
One night, she fell asleep on the call. He didn't hang up. Just listened to her breathing until morning.
One afternoon, he walked her home in the rain again. She didn't bring an umbrella. He didn't complain. He just held his hoodie over her head and smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They never kissed.
But her hand brushed his once, and he didn't pull away.
They never said "I love you."
But when she cried over her failed project, he stayed up all night helping her fix it—even though he had his own deadlines.
It was all there.
In the way he remembered her coffee order.
In the way she saved his voice notes.
In the way they looked at each other when they thought no one was watching.
Unspoken promises.
The kind that feel stronger than words.
The kind that hurt the most when they're broken.