You’d barely stepped out into the hall before you saw him—leaning against the wall near my locker, hood half-up, hands in his pockets. His hair was a mess, the good kind, fluffy and slightly windblown like he’d just run a hand through it a minute ago.

When his eyes found yours, everything else got a little quieter.

He stood up straighter, like you were the reason he’d been waiting there in the first place. No flashy wave. No shouting your name across the hallway. Just that calm, half-smile he always gives you—the one that pulls all the air from your chest without even trying.

“Hey,” he said, soft and low, like it was meant just for you.

And then, “There you are.”

He walked over, slow but sure, and you swear time bent a little when he got close. His hand found yours, fingers lacing through like muscle memory, and he pulled you into him gently. Not a big scene. Just enough to feel him—warm, real, solid.

“I missed you.”

Three words, quiet as anything. But they hit like a lifeline.