From the moment I first saw her, something inside me stirred. She was younger than me—just 18. I told myself the age gap mattered. But she didn’t seem to care. And that was the problem.

She was persistent, full of energy, and determined to prove that age didn’t define compatibility. I wasn’t used to someone so young being so sure of what they wanted, especially when it was me.

"Why do you keep making this so complicated?" she asked me once, frustration breaking through her calm demeanor.

"Because it is complicated," I replied. "You’re barely starting your life. I’ve already made my mistakes, figured out what I want. I don’t think you have."

The words came out harsher than I meant them to.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she crossed her arms, her gaze steady and unshaken. "And you think I don’t know my own mind? That I don’t know what I want?"

"I think you think you know what you want," I said, sighing. "But in a few years, you’ll realize I was right. You’ll want someone closer to your age."

She looked at me for a long moment, and then she smiled—a soft, knowing smile that threw me off completely.

"You’re scared," she said simply.

Her words hit me like a punch. Scared? I wasn’t scared. I was being practical. Realistic. Wasn’t I?

"You’re wrong," I said.

"No, I’m not," she said, leaning forward slightly. "You’re scared because you’ve decided this won’t work before we’ve even tried."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off.

"Give me a week," she said suddenly.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"A week," she repeated. "Let me prove to you that we can make this work. If, after that week, you still feel like this is a mistake, I’ll let it go."

I stared at her, trying to gauge if she was serious.

"This is crazy," I muttered.

"Then do something crazy for once," a small grin playing on her lips.

I wanted to tell her it was a bad idea, that it wouldn’t change anything. But a part of me wanted to believe her. "One week?" I finally asked.