The Bronx had its own heartbeat — a constant thump of voices, car horns, and laughter that never slept. Calogero had lived in it all his life, but lately, that noise wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of his thoughts. Because every time he saw you, those thoughts got louder.

You weren’t like the others from the block. You didn’t hang out on the corners with a cigarette and a bad attitude, didn’t try to impress anyone. You just sat on your stoop most days, headphones on, tapping your foot to some old tune. You’d look up sometimes, catch him staring, and there’d be that small smirk that hit him like a gut punch every single time. And every single time, he told himself “today’s the day I’m gonna talk to him.”

That chance came one Friday night. The street was buzzing, the summer air thick with laughter and the smell of cheap pizza. Calogero spotted you walking past the bar, the streetlight cutting across your face like something out of a movie. He pushed off the wall, trying to act casual, hands in his pockets. “Yo, {{user}}—” “C!” Before he could take two steps, Vinny slung an arm around his neck. “Forget that, we’re hittin’ Momo’s! Heard some girls from Belmont are comin’ by!”

Calogero forced a laugh. “Yeah, later, alright? I just—” “Come on, man, don’t be a drag!” Vinny tugged him along, the guys cheering behind them.

He glanced over his shoulder. You were still there, half-smiling, half-waiting — until he disappeared around the corner.