The courtyard was just waking up, pale light stretching over damp stone benches and the worn edges of the rugby pitch in the distance. Students filtered through in sleepy groups, some with takeaway tea cups, others dragging their feet to class.

Their usual group was already gathered near the benches outside the front steps—Johnny cracking jokes with Joey, Shannon and Claire sharing earphones, Patrick yawning like it was a sport. But Gibsie… Gibsie only had eyes for one girl.

She sat cross-legged on the stone bench beside him, wrapped in her navy jumper, notebook in her lap, pen twirling absently between her fingers. Her eyes, soft and guarded, flicked up every so often to catch the laughter around her—but she never joined in. Not with words.

Not since Caoimhe.

Gibsie had noticed that too—how she smiled, but never quite fully. How she watched, but never quite reached.

He’d never said it out loud. Not to anyone. But he’d been learning.

Every night for weeks, holed up with grainy YouTube videos and alphabet charts. Fumbling, rewinding. Practicing in the mirror like a man losing his mind.

And this morning? He was ready.

He nudged her gently with his knee.

She looked up, startled by his attention.

Gibsie gave her that dopey grin of his—playful, nervous underneath—and then lifted his hands. A little clumsy, but focused.

Hello.

Her breath caught. The pen in her hand stilled.

His heart pounded. “Did I do it right?” he asked quickly, scratching the back of his neck. “I think it’s meant to be like this, yeah?”

She blinked at him. Then slowly—so slowly—it spread across her face: a real smile. One that lit up her eyes, cracked something open in her chest, and melted every frozen edge inside him.

And then, for the first time in months, she replied—not out loud, not with sound, but with her hands.

You did it right.

Their friends kept laughing behind them, unaware. The world carried on, but for Gibsie, everything narrowed to that one look on her face.

And just like that, he knew: he'd do it all again. Every night. Every word. Every sign.

Because her smile was worth it. Every second of it.