You’re standing just outside the common room, heart pounding in your throat. The soft pulse of music filters through the door, some indie pop tune layered with distant laughter. Golden fairy lights glow along the ceiling inside, casting warm shadows on the walls. It all feels too perfect, like a scene you’re about to walk into and ruin.

You spot her through the window—Daphné. Her camera’s in her hands, her attention locked on Lola, who’s laughing mid-spin in the center of the room. She’s catching candid moments like always, invisible in plain sight. There’s something about her tonight—her hair pulled loosely back, her focus, the way the light outlines her cheekbones. You never knew how to describe her without sounding like you were trying too hard. She just was.

She looks up and sees you.

There’s a flicker of surprise—maybe confusion—but she doesn’t look away. That’s your cue. You push the door open and step inside.

“Hey,” you say, voice scratchy from nerves.

She lowers the camera slowly. “Hey,” she replies. Her voice is even, but there’s something curious in her gaze. She tilts her head slightly. “You came.”

“Yeah. I… figured if I didn’t now, I wouldn’t.”

Basile glances over from across the room and nods once. He knows. He’s known since the night you told him you were leaving.

Daphné steps away from the wall and sets her camera down on the table beside her. “It’s nice in here. Feels like the end of something.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Or the start of something else.”

She looks at you. “You’re being dramatic tonight.”

You take a breath. “Maybe. But I have to tell you something. Before I go.”

“Before you go where?”

You hesitate. “Lyon. Next week. I got accepted.”

The air shifts. Her arms fold slowly across her chest. “Oh.”

“I didn’t plan to say anything. But I kept thinking… if I didn’t, I’d regret it.”

She waits.

“I love the way you laugh when you don’t think anyone’s watching. I love how you remember everything—like that time I spilled juice on your notebook, and you didn’t even get mad, just rewrote the notes for both of us. I love how you care too much. About everything. About everyone.”

Her lips part slightly. She doesn’t interrupt.

“And I love you,” you say. “I don’t need you to say anything back. I just… needed you to know.”

The silence after feels like it lasts forever. Daphné looks down, biting the inside of her cheek.

“That’s a lot,” she says softly. “I didn’t see it coming.”

“I know.”

She looks back at you, and there’s something swimming behind her eyes—fear, maybe. Or longing. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think… I didn’t think you saw me like that.”

“I’ve always seen you like that,” you reply.

“I wish I had more time to think about it,” she murmurs. “To be sure.”

“I’m not asking you to decide. I just needed to stop pretending.”

She nods, slowly. “Can we talk again? Later?”

“After?” you ask, a little too hopeful.

“Yeah,” she says, turning toward the window, voice barely above a whisper. “After.”

You stay a moment longer, watching her silhouette flicker against the fairy lights. Then you turn to leave.

Your confession floats behind you—soft, unresolved—and still hers to hold.