Nick Andopolis was the kind of person who didn’t believe in coincidences. “Everything happens for a reason,” he said one afternoon, sprawled across the carpeted floor of his basement. He held his guitar in his lap, strumming absentmindedly as he looked up at you. “Like how I met you.”

You raised an eyebrow from your spot on the couch, clutching a steaming cup of hot chocolate. “Oh yeah? And what’s the reason for that?”

He grinned, his dimples deepening in that boyish way that always made your heart skip a beat. “To prove soulmates are real.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping across your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin softening. “But I’m serious. I think we were meant to meet. You ever just...click with someone? Like, it’s bigger than you?”

You wanted to laugh it off, to make some sarcastic comment about how he’d probably said the same thing to every girl he’d ever met. But the way he was looking at you—earnest, unguarded—made your words catch in your throat.

Because, deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

You’d felt it the first time you saw him, sitting behind his drum kit during a pep rally. He was wearing that oversized flannel he seemed to live in, his hair falling into his eyes as he played with a reckless kind of joy that made it impossible to look away. When he caught you staring, he’d flashed you a lopsided grin, like he’d been waiting for you all along.

After that, it was like gravity kept pulling you together. He’d find you at your locker just to tell you some random joke or share a song he thought you’d like. You’d sit with him during lunch, talking about everything and nothing, your conversations spiraling into that comfortable rhythm that felt like you’d known each other for years instead of weeks.

It wasn’t long before Nick became your person. The one who’d show up at your house unannounced, guitar slung over his shoulder, insisting you needed to hear the new riff he’d been working on. The one who, without fail, made you feel seen.