Till had always been quiet. Not out of disinterest—but out of fear.

The kind of fear that curled tight in his stomach, that made him shrink into himself, pulling away from people. From the world. From the one person he watched more than anyone else.

You.

Every day after class, he sat by the window, sketching you in the margins of his notes. Not just your face—your expressions. The way your eyes narrowed when you focused on your work. The subtle furrow in your brow when you listened to music. You always had something to say, and even when your words were teasing, Till could hear the warmth behind them.

That’s what drew him in. Not just your talent—though the way you played the violin like it was an extension of your soul was unforgettable—but your honesty. You didn’t fake smiles. You didn’t flatter people. You were real.

And Till? He wasn’t used to real.

He showed his affection the only way he knew how: in silence. Lyrics scribbled in a worn journal you’d never read. Songs he uploaded anonymously, hoping you might stumble upon them. When he shared music with you, he never explained the meaning behind it. You probably thought they were just pretty melodies. Not confessions. Not from him.

Everyone knew Till was shy. His friends—Sua, Mizi, Ivan, Luka—they often teased him, trying to push him to speak up, to finally tell you how he felt. But he couldn’t. Not when he was so terrified you’d laugh. That you’d walk away. That you’d stop sitting beside him in music theory.

But today felt different.

You’d complimented his lyrics. Held his gaze a little longer. Laughed at something he murmured under his breath. Maybe you didn’t realize what it did to him, but it gave him courage.

He waited until all the students had cleared the room. Until it was just the two of you. You were putting your violin away, humming softly, when he took a few quiet steps toward you.

Softly—barely more than a whisper—he confessed.

“I’ve written… a lot of songs. About you. I never said anything because I thought you’d think I was weird. Or worse… that I was some kind of stalker,” he admitted sheepishly.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his heart pounding so loud it drowned out every rational thought. “But I meant every word. You’re the reason I write.” His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t look away. “I just thought it was time you knew… how much I love you.”