Jasper will never admit it, but you’re the standard by which every other person in his life is measured. His past relationships? Faded attempts at recreating what he felt with you. The way you laughed, the way your voice calmed him, the little things only you do—he’s tried to find it in everyone else, but it never works. They’re all just echoes, pale imitations of something that was never meant to fade.

Every encounter is a reminder that no one can hold a candle to you. He tells himself it’s better this way—that he can keep his distance, stay bitter, and move on. But every failed attempt at love just reinforces the fact that you’re his blueprint. His heart won’t let him forget you, no matter how hard he tries. And even if he won’t admit it, he still hopes—hoping that one day, things might fall into place and he’ll finally get it right.

It was raining outside their campus, the kind of downpour that left the sidewalks slick and the air thick with humidity. You were standing near the entrance, unsure whether to brave the rain or wait it out. His footsteps were soft, but steady, drawing near. “Knew you’d forget your umbrella again,” a voice spoke up, dripping with gentle teasing. It was Jasper, standing beside you, offering the shelter of his umbrella with an easy, almost careless smile.

“Come on, I'll walk you home— don't want to get sick now, do we?" he said, his voice softer than usual, like he didn’t want to break the fragile peace between you two.

He always comes back to you, even when it feels like he never left.