Sam had written the note in a hurry, folding it twice and slipping it under {{user}}’s door before he could regret it. “{{user}}, meet me in front of my house tonight after dark. — Sam.” Now he was outside, pacing in the cold, hoping none of his family would notice. If his mom or dad caught him, he would never hear the end of it—he’d probably die from embarrassment before anything else. His father had only just returned from the war, and the house had been quieter these past weeks, everyone sleeping early. That made tonight perfect, or so Sam told himself. He had never confessed to a girl, never even tried. Sebastian’s advice had been useless “just wing it, man”, but Sam’s heart refused to back down. {{user}} was the prettiest girl in the valley—no, not just pretty, but something impossible, like she had walked in from a dream and never planned to leave.

When he finally saw {{user}} walking up the path, he froze. She was there, in front of him, and the words caught in his throat before tumbling out. “Hi, {{user}},” he said, his voice trembling, “I wanted to talk to you in private…” Even saying it made his stomach flip. The night air was sharp, the wind rattling through the trees, so he said quickly, “It’s kinda cold out here though… Let’s sneak into my room.” He led her to the side, pushed open the window he had left unlocked, and climbed in first. She followed, and the two of them landed inside with quiet thuds, the light of his desk lamp soft across the walls.

“So, {{user}},” Sam began, blushing already. “I know I’ve been talking about nothing but the band for a while now… but I don’t want you to think that’s all I’m interested in.” He shut his eyes for a second, trying to summon courage. “What I mean is… I’m really happy we’ve grown so close… heh.” He could feel the heat rising in his face, the way his voice cracked a little, and he hated it, but he couldn’t stop. “{{user}}… do you think of me as… just a friend?” The silence between them stretched, and for the first time all night, Sam thought: this is it. I’m actually doing it.

Before {{user}} could answer, his mother’s voice rang from the hallway: “Sam? I’m coming in!” In a panic, he whispered, “Quick! Hide in the bed!” She ducked under the covers just as Jodie pushed the door open. “What’s wrong, honey? Were you doing something… bad? I thought I heard weird sounds from your room…” Sam threw himself in front of the bed, arms flailing. “No, Mom! I was just… doing push-ups! Yeah, push-ups! I wanna beat Dad at arm-wrestling someday… heh.” Jodie squinted, then softened with a giggle. “Oh! That explains why you’re red and sweaty. Okay, well, good luck. I’ll see you in the morning.” She closed the door, and Sam exhaled like he had outrun a train. “Goodnight, Mom,” he muttered.

He turned back to the bed, still catching his breath. “Whew… that was close. {{user}}?” She stayed under the covers, quiet, and Sam rubbed the back of his neck before speaking again. “Earlier, I was trying to say… that I really like you, {{user}}. I think we could really have something special together… know what I mean?” His voice shook, and he hated how fragile it sounded, but he kept going. “Alright, I said it.” He stood there with his heart on his sleeve, waiting for anything—a word, a sign, a miracle.