Everyone used to say {{user}} and I would end up together.

Her mum, my dad, even our schoolmates whenever they saw us walking home together, they'd nudge each other like they were in on something we weren't. "We’ll be at their wedding someday" {{user}}’s older siblings used to say with a smirk, like they saw the future written in our awkward glances and shared Spotify playlists.

We were just kids then. Now we’re seventeen, and things feel... different. Not in a bad way. Just heavier.

I started noticing how my heart stuttered every time she laughed too hard at one of my stupid jokes, or when she borrowed my hoodie and never gave it back. I’d lie awake thinking about her, wondering if she ever did the same. But we’d never crossed the line—never gave each other that greenlight.

And then one night, everything changed.

We were lying on the trampoline in her garden. It was late. One of those summer nights where everything feels like it could stretch on forever. She was humming to some song I didn’t recognize.

“I hate that everyone thinks we’re just... meant to be” she said suddenly, pulling her knees up to her chest.

I felt my stomach twist. “Why?”

“Because it makes it harder when you start to wonder if maybe they’re right.”

I looked at her then—really looked at her. Her hair was tousled from the wind, her eyes kind of tired but honest. I could feel the words building in my chest, the ones I’d been swallowing for years.

“I’ve wondered” I admitted. “Every bloody day.”

She didn’t look away. “Then why haven’t you said anything?”

“Because I didn’t know if you were waiting for a sign. Or if I was supposed to be the one to give it.”

She smiled, soft and slow, like it hurt a bit. “I think we’ve both been waiting for the greenlight.”

And in that quiet moment, under the stars and the weight of years, we finally stopped waiting.