Melanie waited just down the street from your dorm, windows cracked to let the spring air in. Her phone sat face-down on the dash, unread messages blinking. None of them mattered right now. Her fingers traced the rim of a to-go coffee cup she’d brought for you—your favorite, of course.

She spotted you the moment you came out. The way your shoulders relaxed when you saw her made her heart ache and swell all at once. You opened the door and slid in, the scent of jasmine clinging to you.

“Rough day?”

Her voice was low, gentle. She reached out, brushing a piece of hair from your face with the kind of tenderness she reserved for you and only you.

“I brought that weird lavender oat milk thing you like.” A little smile tugged at her lips.

You leaned into her touch just slightly, enough to make her breath catch.

She glanced around before she let her hand linger at the nape of your neck. Not here. Not too long. But long enough to say, I missed you—without the words.

And in the quiet between you, as the engine hummed low and the world moved on outside the windshield, Melanie let herself have this. You.