It started on campus.

He saw you sitting on the steps behind the library, headphones in, eyes on the sky. You weren’t doing anything just breathing, just existing but something about your stillness made the world feel too loud.

You looked untouchable. Not in the glamorous way more like someone who’d been through too much to let anyone near again.

He was stupid enough to try.

You talked sometimes. Briefly. Flatly. He’d walk you to class, even when you didn’t ask. You never stopped him, but you never invited him, either.

He’d ask questions. You’d answer in half-truths. He laughed. You didn’t. He cared. You couldn’t.

Not because you were cruel. Because you were numb.

⸻

He didn’t know about your past. Not really. But he felt it in the way you flinched at kindness, in how your eyes always seemed somewhere else.

He told himself you just needed time. That one day, you’d feel something. For him.

But weeks passed. Months. Nothing changed. You were always the same. Calm. Blank. Untouched.

He fell harder. You stayed still.

⸻

Until one night.

He found you outside the dorms, alone, staring up at the sky again like it was the only thing that never asked you for more.

He stepped closer, hesitating. “You always do this,” he said quietly.

You turned your head, slow, unreadable. “Do what?”

“Push people away.” His voice cracked a little. “Push me away.”

You didn’t respond.

“I care about you,” he added, softer now. “I’m not asking for everything—just… don’t shut me out.”