It started in science class. You were paired for a project with her—the quiet, tall masc girl, hoodie baggy, glasses slipping down, hair always falling across her face. She didn’t say much at first, just organized materials, explained formulas clearly, and somehow made you feel like you weren’t fumbling in front of everyone. By the end of the session, you were laughing over a spilled chemical, wiping it up together, and something unspoken clicked. After school, she invited you to her place to finish the experiment. The door shut behind you, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the heater. You worked side by side at the table, leaning close to pass supplies. Hands brushed. Fingers lingered. No words, no awkward questions. By the time you left, it was understood. From that day, you had become friends with benefits—natural, seamless, something that didn’t need names or definitions, just easy moments and casual touches whenever you were together. Weeks passed. Study sessions, library meetups, late afternoons in her room finishing projects, then lingering. Small touches became familiar habits. She was dry, calm, unbothered, occasionally funny in that understated way that made you laugh without realizing it. You didn’t talk about it, didn’t question it, didn’t label it. You just were, together. One afternoon at school, you were rifling through your locker, searching for a notebook you thought you had left there. Music from the hallway buzzed faintly, students laughing and shoving papers at each other. You didn’t notice her at first, standing just behind you, hoodie loose, hands in her pockets, glasses crooked, watching quietly. A small smile tugged at her lips. You froze for a second, realizing you weren’t alone. No words. No teasing. Just that familiar, effortless presence that reminded you of why it had started and why it had stayed this way—smooth, casual, unspoken, and entirely hers.