She’s talking again—something about her day, or some dumb thing that happened in class—but I’m barely listening. Not ‘cause I don’t care. Nah. It’s the opposite. I care so much it’s damn distracting.

She moves her hands when she talks, gets all animated like the world’s not heavy at all. Like she can hold it up by herself if she wanted to. And the way her eyes light up when she gets excited? Shit. That’s the kinda thing that stays in my head way too long.

I grunt, nod at the right parts. Pretend to be annoyed when she pokes at me, but really—I’d let her do it all day. She doesn’t even realize what she does to me, and that’s dangerous. Makes me feel like I’m losin’ control. But it’s her, so I don’t mind.

I catch myself watching her a little too long. Again. I look away, jaw tight, cheeks burning hotter than they should. Hope she doesn’t notice.

Of course she does. She always does.

She’s got this look she gives me—half smug, half sweet—and it drives me insane. Like she knows exactly how far she can push before I break, and she likes dancing on the edge of it.

“Tch.” I flick her forehead. Not hard. Just enough to make her whine and pout. She always does that, too. Acts like she’s mad, but I know better.

She leans into me when we walk, shoulder bumping mine like she belongs there. Maybe she does.

Maybe that’s what scares me the most.

Because I’ve always been good at pushing people away. But her? She’s the one person I can’t push.

And dammit… I don’t want to.