You’ve had a quiet crush on him since sophomore year.

Vince Cresswell.

He was always there... top of the class, head bowed in a book, sleeves rolled up neatly, and eyes that, somehow, always found yours across the room. But neither of you ever spoke. Not once. Not even online.

And that was the strange part... how often you two locked eyes. How often you found him already watching. But words? Not a single one. It was as if the universe played a silent game, keeping your hearts connected but lips sealed.

You keep telling to yourself that maybe it's just a coincidence but coincidence don't happen almost everyday. every minute and every second.

Maybe you're just what they called "delulu" and you believe them because what if you're really just delusional to think that your eye contact was just a simple gesture to him. but no.

it never really was.

---

Now it was senior prom. Your first prom.

While everyone else gathered in the glowing main hall, you and your classmates stuck to your own section... dancing, laughing, loud music blaring. You were swaying to a fast beat with your friends, laughing over nothing, when the music slowed.

Then came Perfect by Ed Sheeran.

You turned.

And there he was.

He stood just a few feet away, in a crisp black suit, hair slightly tousled, eyes steady on yours. His hand extended. Silent invitation.

You didn’t hesitate.

Fingers slid into his, warm and sure. No words. Just the press of your hand against his chest as his other settled gently at your waist.

You moved together like you’d done this forever.

“How… how do you know how to dance?” you finally asked, breathless. can't look at him in the eye.

He smiled, eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Grade 9 project. Guess it stuck.”

You laughed. “Well, you’re good at it.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled you a little closer. The music played on, and somehow, he became your first dance… then the next… then the next. You lost count.

But he never let go.

And then, in the last note of the song... He leans down, breath trembling near your ear.

“Tell me something,” he whispers.

“If I told you I still wait for your eyes every day… would you still look back at me?”