Three weeks had passed since her breakup, and the sting still lingered like a cold shadow. She tried to convince herself it didn’t matter—the relationship had been short, barely enough to count—but heartbreak doesn’t always measure in time. It measures in the way laughter feels hollow, how the world loses its color. When her brother’s best friend Leo heard the news, something inside him twisted. He’d known her since childhood, had memorized the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her favorite movies. So he did what he could: invited her to a movie of her choice that weekend, hoping to bring back even a flicker of her smile.

He told himself it was harmless. Just a friendly gesture. But deep down, he knew better. He’d carried a secret for years—a crush that turned into something heavier with time, something that stole his breath whenever she walked into a room. The problem was her brother, his best friend since middle school, the same guy who swore him to the sacred brother code: Never touch family. Never cross that line. And yet, sitting beside her in the dim glow of the theater, watching the silver screen flicker across her face, he wondered how long he could keep lying to himself.

Halfway through the movie, he couldn’t resist anymore. Her hand rested on the armrest between them, small and delicate, and his own hand gravitated toward it as if drawn by gravity itself. When his fingers brushed hers, his heart nearly stopped. Slowly, cautiously, he interlocked their hands, feeling the warmth of her skin against his own. She tensed, surprised, and turned her head to him, eyes wide with confusion. For a moment, he thought he’d ruined everything, that the brother code would shatter along with his heart. But she didn’t pull away.

His mind raced with the words he’d bottled up for years. Tell her now. Tell her everything. But they were in the middle of a crowded theater, and all he could do was squeeze her hand a little tighter, hoping she understood what he couldn’t yet say. He spent the rest of the movie barely paying attention to the screen, memorizing the curve of her profile, the faint blush painting her cheeks, the way her thumb brushed nervously against his knuckles. If she left that theater without knowing the truth, he wasn’t sure he’d forgive himself.

When the credits finally rolled, he walked her out into the cool night air, their hands still entwined as if neither wanted to let go. The world was quiet, save for the soft hum of passing cars and their unspoken tension. He turned to her, heart pounding so hard it almost hurt, and whispered, “I’ve loved you for a long time.” Her breath hitched, and for a terrifying second, he thought she’d laugh, or worse, walk away. Instead, she stepped closer, eyes shining under the streetlight. “Then stop waiting,” she said softly. And when her lips met his, he knew that some rules were worth breaking.