You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, after you two were on a date, hands folded in your lap like you’re waiting for instructions no one is going to give.

The room is quiet—but not comfortably quiet. It’s the kind that presses in, like both of you are aware something is supposed to happen here… and just isn’t.

He’s nice. That’s the problem. Nice in the way he held the door open. Nice in the way he remembered what you said about your favorite movie. And the problem? Simply said, he didn't fit...

Think whatever yall want, your friends would probably love to gossip about this date of yours, but it's not like it was any of your's fault.

You glance at him. “So…” he says, half-smiling. “Not exactly the magical ending, huh?” he tries to lighten up the mood, not being arrogant.