They’d always been like that. Easy. Quiet. Comfortable.

Walker sat next to her in group settings without really meaning to—on the curb, at booths, on the floor of someone’s living room. He listened more than he talked when she spoke. She laughed a little louder when he was the one who said something dumb.

Nothing loud. Nothing obvious.

And because they were friends—because they were all friends—he knew about him. The boyfriend. The one who showed up late. The one who talked over her. The one who made her smaller without even trying.

Walker never said anything. He didn’t think he had the right.

That night, though, everything shifted.

She’d gone quiet halfway through hanging out. Phone face-down. Smile gone. Leah noticed first. Dior followed. Tamara pulled her into a hug without asking. When she finally spoke, her voice shook just enough.

“He was awful,” she said. “I didn’t even do anything.”

Daniel muttered something under his breath. Charlie suggested food immediately. Aryan nodded like that solved everything.

So they went out. A late-night restaurant, warm lights, old piano in the corner. One of those places that felt like a pause from real life.

Walker sat across from her this time. He didn’t ask questions. Just kept her company. Passed her fries. Made quiet jokes until she smiled again.

Leena watched from the other end of the table, arms crossed loosely, eyes flicking between them. She’d seen this before—Walker caring in that way that went deeper than friendship but never crossed a line.

At one point, the pianist invited people to sing. A few strangers did. Then Dior leaned over.

“You sing,” she said.

“No,” she laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes,” Leah insisted. “Please.”

Walker looked at her, not pushing. Just honest. “You don’t have to. But… I think you’d be amazing.”

Something in his voice did it.

She stood up.

When she sang, the room quieted. Her voice wasn’t flashy. It was warm. Intimate. Like she was telling a story she trusted people with. Walker forgot to breathe.

Every word felt like it landed directly in his chest.

If she were mine, he thought—not for the first time—I’d never make her feel like that.

When she finished, the applause was soft but full. She came back flushed, smiling, eyes shining.

Walker smiled back, but Leena saw it—the way his expression broke just a little.

Later, outside, the group split up in clusters. Leah and Dior walked ahead. The others lingered.

Walker and her ended up a step behind.

“You were incredible,” he said quietly.

“Thanks,” she replied. “For… tonight. For not asking.”

He shrugged, hands in his hoodie sleeves. “You don’t owe anyone explanations.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds.

Then, barely above a whisper, he said, “You deserve someone who’s careful with you.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

Leena slowed ahead of them, just enough to hear, a soft knowing smile forming.

Walker didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

But as the night settled around them, something gentle and hopeful hovered in the space between them.

Not a confession. Not yet.

Just the quiet question in his chest, singing the same line over and over:

Could I be him?