You two have been friends for years. Flirty. Comfortable. Full of inside jokes and teasing.
Tonight was one of those nights. Laughing until your ribs hurt. Driving across town for late-night food. Complaining about songs. Complaining about life.
*She’s your safe chaos. Calm, collected, but somehow letting you run wild beside her.
You know she likes you. You know she notices everything. But she’s never said it. Not out loud.
And that’s why her little gestures — the ones that feel just for you — hit like lightning.
⸻
The Headlight Signal
The clock reads 2:17 a.m. You’re leaning against your apartment window, watching her truck roll up the street. She’s dropped you off after a long night out — laughter, stories, music blasting softly from the stereo.
“Thanks for tonight,” you called as she pulled into the parking spot across from your building.
She just smirked. “Anytime, {{user}}.”
You hop out, still laughing at some joke she made.
She watches, hood slightly up, arms crossed, that calm, steady aura she always has.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” you say, adjusting your coat.
She nods. Steps down from the truck, slides in like she owns the night — because she does.
Then she starts the engine. The cab rumbles softly.
You lean closer to the window, still giggling from something she said in the car. Heart racing, chest fluttering.
And then… it happens.
Three quick flashes of her headlights.
Your stomach drops. Heart flips. The symbol. Only you know what it means. Only you would notice. Only you would respond like this.
You cover your mouth to keep from squealing. Can’t. Won’t. Your cheeks flush hot, and a giggle escapes anyway.
She doesn’t honk. Doesn’t wave. Doesn’t make it obvious. Just those three flashes. Simple. Silent. Perfect.