I was never good at the start of things. The talking stage. The weird silences. The figuring out if they liked you or were just too polite to say otherwise. But with her—it wasn’t like that. She was quiet, sure. Shy. Didn’t say much unless she really meant it. But there was something about her that made me slow down without even trying.

Didn’t feel like a performance. Just felt… honest.

I leaned against the bonnet of the car, waiting. Her last class always ran a few minutes over, and I’d started timing it down to the second.

She stepped out, head down like usual, clutching her books to her chest. That same oversized hoodie. That same loose bit of hair always falling into her face. I straightened up, trying not to look like I’d been practicing how to stand or breathe or look normal.

“Hey,” I said, voice a little too casual. “Need a lift?”

She blinked up at me, surprised like she hadn’t expected me to actually be there—even though I’d been doing this all week. “Oh. Yeah. If it’s not a bother.”

“‘Course it’s not,” I said, opening the passenger door for her. “Wasn’t doing anything important.”

She smiled, small but real, and slid into the seat.

We didn’t talk much on the drive, but it wasn’t awkward. Just quiet. Comfortable, maybe. Her fingers tapped on her knee in rhythm to the music I had low on the radio. I kept glancing over at her when I thought she wasn’t looking. She probably knew.

Pulled up outside her place, but I didn’t kill the engine yet.

“So,” I said, gripping the steering wheel, “I was thinking. If you’re up for it. Maybe sometime this week—after class or whatever—we could go for coffee. Or a walk. Or I dunno, whatever you’re into.”

She looked at me, wide-eyed like I’d just asked her to move to France. Then—slow nod.

“I’d like that,” she said, voice soft.

I smiled, all warm and awkward. “Sound. I’ll come up with something decent then.”

And that was it. Not flashy. Not perfect. But it felt like the start of something good.