{{user}} and Malia had been best friends since preschool—more like sisters than anything else. And if there was one thing Malia loved to talk about, it was how hopelessly innocent her brother Liam was.

“He’s never even held hands with a girl,” she’d sigh. “It’s tragic, honestly.”

{{user}} would laugh it off, pretending she didn’t care. But the truth? She wasn’t exactly swimming in experience either. No kisses. No late-night sneaking around. Just flushed cheeks and quiet crushes.

And Liam… was definitely one of them.

He wasn’t the cool, brooding type. No tattoos. No leather jackets. Just…Liam. He was polite, always wore the same beat-up hoodie, and had this quiet, soft way of talking that made you lean in. And according to Malia—who said it like it was the most tragic thing on Earth—he was painfully innocent.

But so was {{user}}. Maybe that’s what made her heart flutter more than it should.

That night, she and Malia had a sleepover, as usual. Piles of snacks, terrible rom-coms, whispered secrets. Malia had dozed off halfway through the movie, curled up like a cat. {{user}} tiptoed to the kitchen for some water—barefoot, blanket around her shoulders.

And there was Liam.