It had been a week since the night Michelle stayed in Steve's room. A week of quiet glances, longer touches, and smiles that lasted a second too long. Their world had shifted—not loudly, not suddenly—but with a tenderness that felt inevitable.
It was Friday again, and the late afternoon sky was painted in soft pastels. After class, Steve had asked her to meet him at the old garden behind the campus chapel—one of those hidden places few students ever found.
Michelle arrived with her backpack still over one shoulder, breath slightly quick from walking.
Steve was already waiting, standing near the stone wall, looking up at the sky as if he'd been lost in thought.
When he saw her, he smiled that smile—the one that made her forget every word she meant to say.
"Hey," she breathed.
"Hey," he said, his voice low and warm.
He held out his hand.
She took it.
They sat on the old wooden bench under a tree whose leaves were slowly falling. The air was cool but not cold, and everything around them seemed quieter than usual, like the world had taken a step back just to let them be.
"Do you ever think," Steve began, "how strange it is that we didn't know each other just weeks ago?"
Michelle tilted her head, curious. "What do you mean?"
He looked at her, truly looked at her. "I mean… this. You. Us. I feel like I've known you longer. Like there was something waiting for us to meet."
Her cheeks flushed softly. "I feel that too. Like something fell into place when I saw you."
They sat in silence for a moment, their hands still lightly intertwined.
Then he turned to her. "Can I… hold you?"
Michelle didn't answer. Instead, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his torso, resting her head against his chest. His arms came around her slowly, carefully, and she felt herself melt into the warmth of him.
His chin brushed the top of her head. He didn't say anything. He just held her—like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She could hear his heartbeat. Steady. Real. Safe.
After a while, she pulled back just enough to look up at him.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them moved at first. They just looked, breathing the same air, suspended in a moment that felt like it might never come again.
Then, without needing permission, Steve leaned in.
And kissed her.
It wasn't rushed. It wasn't unsure. It was gentle and warm, the kind of kiss that said: I see you. I'm here. I want this.
Michelle responded softly, her hand finding the side of his face, her thumb brushing his jaw. The kiss deepened just slightly—not in hunger, but in trust. It was slow. Sweet. And full of meaning.
When they finally parted, their foreheads touched.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"That felt like something I'll never forget."
Steve smiled. "That's because it was."
They stayed there long after the sun began to fall, still in each other's arms, wrapped in something quiet and beautiful. Not needing to speak. Just needing this.
Michelle had never felt so close to anyone.
And in his arms, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she was starting to understand what love might be.