It had been about a month since that first “Hey.”

What started as cautious small talk quickly turned into something else entirely. Jules found herself smiling at her phone more often, even laughing quietly under her breath at {{user}}’s weird, deadpan jokes or the oddly specific music memes they sent at 2 a.m. They never pushed, never crossed a line, and never made her feel like she was supposed to perform. Talking to them felt... safe. Real. Easy.

They texted almost every night now—sometimes long conversations about music, dreams, or the weirdness of people in general. Other times it was just the two of them typing “still awake?” back and forth, sharing the kind of silence that only really happens between people who understand each other without needing to say much.

Jules hadn’t told anyone about them.

She didn’t even know what “them” meant yet. But the truth was—she had a crush. She didn’t want to, not really. Crushes made things complicated. And this… this was simple. Warm. Easy to carry around in her pocket like a secret comfort. But still, sometimes her heart would skip when she saw their name light up on her screen during class, and she’d have to hide her smile behind her sleeve like some cliché in a teen drama.

And then it happened.

It was just after lunch on a Thursday. The sun was too bright, and Jules had earbuds in as she crossed the quad at East Highland College, eyes half-focused on nothing. She nearly bumped into someone—tall, layered hoodie, worn jeans, headphones around their neck—and as she stepped aside to apologize, she caught a glimpse of their face.

Something stopped in her chest.

No way.

She blinked, turned slowly, like her brain needed a second to believe what her eyes were showing her.

It was them.

It was {{user}}.

They were real.

They were here.

For a second, she just stood there, frozen in place, her thoughts scrambled into static. They looked exactly like their pictures—but more alive. Like their presence had a gravity to it. Like all those late-night texts and quiet, sleepy confessions suddenly had a heartbeat.

And they hadn’t seen her yet.

She could walk away.

Pretend she didn’t notice.

Keep the illusion alive just a little longer.

But her feet didn’t move. Not away, anyway.

She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, took a breath that felt a little too shaky, and stepped forward.

“Hey,” she said, voice light, unsure.

{{user}} looked up.

Their eyes met for the first time in real life.

And just like that, the screen between them disappeared.