Sue didn’t mind sitting at the front of the lecture hall—not when Michael was next to her, cracking jokes under his breath and charming half the class with that restless, bright energy of his. He was the kind of guy who made friends without trying, bouncing from group to group with a grin and something clever to say. But Sue had studied enough psychology to recognize the patterns. The way he tapped his foot non-stop, changed topics mid-sentence, or forgot half their project instructions unless she wrote them down. Michael had ADHD, and he didn’t hide it. What he did hide, though, was how he felt about her.

Even though he was social, confident, and loud, when it came to Sue, Michael shifted. He’d tease her like he did everyone else, but then look away too fast. He’d invite her to hang out, then cancel last minute with a vague excuse that sounded like anxiety. She’d catch him staring sometimes during class, but the second she met his eyes, he’d be talking to someone else or joking with the professor. It wasn’t rejection—it was hesitation. Like he didn’t quite know how to express something serious without it getting jumbled in his head.

Sue understood more than he realized. In fact, she liked the way his mind lit up when he was excited, how his stories jumped from one topic to another like fireworks. And maybe she didn’t need a big confession from him—not yet. Maybe it was enough that he always remembered her coffee order, or that he waited for her after class even when he had somewhere to be.