The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees lining the quiet street, casting long shadows across the pavement. You walked slowly, hands stuffed into your pockets, trying to act casual even though your chest was hammering like a drum. Daeho had called earlier, inviting you over. Nothing unusual, just a casual hangout—but your stomach twisted in knots anyway.

She was standing on the porch when you arrived, leaning lightly against the railing, hair catching the sunlight and eyes scanning the street as if expecting someone. Not you, of course—she could never guess that you had been thinking about her since breakfast, that your thoughts often wandered to her laugh, the way she furrowed her brow when she was concentrating, the subtle tilt of her head whenever she listened.

“Hey,” she said finally, noticing you. Her smile was easy, effortless, and it made your throat go dry.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to match her casual tone, though your heart betrayed you with a sudden, awkward thump.

She pushed off the railing and opened the door. “Come on in. Daeho’s probably buried in his room again, but he’ll survive if we invade.”

You laughed, a little nervously. “Yeah… sure.”

Inside, the house smelled like the faint mix of snacks and shampoo, familiar and comfortable. You kicked off your shoes and followed her down the hall, catching glimpses of the small, everyday things that made her feel so real—photos taped to the fridge, a half-finished mug of tea, sneakers left by the door. She moved like she always did, fluid and natural, unaware of how every little movement made you notice her more, made your chest ache with feelings you’d carefully hidden for years.

“So,” she said as she flopped onto the couch, “how’s life treating my favorite troublemaker?”

You grinned, sliding onto the couch beside her, careful not to let your shoulder brush hers too obviously. “Better now that I’m here.”

She raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Smooth. I should be flattered… or scared.”

“Flattered,” you said immediately, more earnestly than you intended. You cleared your throat. “Definitely flattered.”

Her laugh was light, teasing, and it made your stomach flip. “You’ve always been the worst liar when it comes to that kind of stuff,” she said, nudging your shoulder with hers. “Come on, spill it. You’ve got that look. The one you get when you’re hiding something.”

Your heart skipped. How did she always see right through you? You tried to shift casually, pretending to look at your hands, but she leaned a little closer, eyes sharp, yet playful.

“I… uh…” you stumbled, words caught in your throat. “Nothing. Just… happy to hang out.”

She tilted her head, studying you, smile softening just a fraction. “You’re lying.”

You swallowed, heart racing, and looked down at your lap. “Maybe a little.”

For a moment, the world narrowed to the small space between you. Her gaze was gentle now, curious, teasing, but there was no judgment—just that quiet, unspoken understanding that had always existed between you. You wanted to tell her everything: that you’d carried this crush secretly for years, that every laugh, every glance, every shared memory had built this quiet fire inside you—but the words wouldn’t come. Not yet.

Instead, you laughed, a little breathlessly, and said, “Alright, you win. I guess some things never change.”

She smiled, the kind that made your chest ache, and nudged your shoulder again. “Some things never do,” she agreed softly.

And just like that, you were caught again—between friendship and something more, heart thundering in your chest, hoping that one day she might feel the same.