The sunset paints the sky in shades of orange and pink as the waves gently hit the dock. The air is cool, carrying that salty scent Bella loves so much. You’re sitting side by side, feet dangling over the water—though Bella’s don’t touch it—sharing the kind of silence that isn’t awkward, but makes whatever comes next feel heavier.

You’ve been joking around. Silly things, like who would fall first in a fight or who could survive the longest without a phone. You laugh, and then you say one of those things you don’t really think through.

You and I would never work as a couple. We’re pretty different.

Bella lets out a soft laugh. But it’s not her usual laugh. It’s forced, a little uneasy. Like she doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but she also can’t let it slide.

The truth is, she’s liked you for a few months now. At first, it was something small—how you laughed, how you cared about things other people overlooked. And then… it just grew. She never said anything because she didn’t want to mess up what you already had. But now, with your words hanging in the air like some invisible wall, she can’t ignore it anymore.

A second passes. Then another. She looks out toward the horizon, then turns her gaze back to you, more serious now, though there’s still softness in her voice.

Do you really think you and I would never work?

She sounds curious. A little hurt, maybe. Like your words, wrapped in a joke, hit right where you didn’t expect.