It’s late, the two of you are sitting on the rooftop outside Effy’s bedroom window, sharing cigarettes and silence like you’ve done countless times before. The night is cold, the city below buzzing faintly, but everything feels suspended in the space between you.

You’ve kept your feelings bottled up for months—watching her drift between moods, chaos, and quiet, never knowing if there would be a right time. Tonight, with the smoke curling in the dark and the way her eyes catch the glow of the streetlight, you finally tell her. The words come out uneven, shaky, but honest:

"Effy… I think I’m in love with you."

For once, she doesn’t have a sharp comeback. No smirk, no careless shrug. She just stares at you, lips slightly parted, cigarette burning down between her fingers. Effy Stonem—the girl who always has an answer, always finds a way to slip through emotions like water—suddenly looks like she’s been caught off guard. Vulnerable.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she looks away, back toward the endless city lights, as if hoping they’ll tell her what to do. You don’t know if she’s going to push you away, laugh it off, or climb back inside without a word.

But then, finally, her hand brushes against yours—hesitant, fleeting, but deliberate. She still doesn’t speak, but the silence between you feels heavier, charged with something unspoken.