The library doors slid shut behind Elias with a soft, hollow sound. It was late enough that the campus had thinned out, the lamps along the paths glowing warm against the dark. He pulled his hood tighter, shoulders slightly hunched, already half lost in his thoughts—

—and almost walked straight into her.

“Oh—Eli,” she said, smiling instantly, the way she always did, as if no time ever passed between them.

He stopped short, heart jumping stupidly. Up close, she looked exactly like she belonged here: long, wavy light-blonde hair spilling from beneath her black leather jacket, soft curls catching the lamplight. Her skin was fair, her expression open and relaxed, light eyes bright despite the hour. The cropped light-blue top and jeans made her look effortless, comfortable in herself in a way Elias had never managed to be.

“Hey,” he said, too quietly at first, then again, steadier. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

“I was studying with friends,” she replied. “They left already. You?”

“Same. Just… longer.” He gave a small, apologetic shrug.

They started walking together without really deciding to, feet falling into an old rhythm. They talked about classes, deadlines, nothing important. The silence between sentences wasn’t awkward—just familiar.

Then Elias stopped.

She turned to him, brows lifting slightly. “What’s up?”

He swallowed. His hands were cold. “Can I ask you something kind of… stupid?”

She smiled, gentle. “You always can.”

He looked at the ground, then back at her. “Why don’t you kiss my cheek anymore?”

The question hung there, fragile.

Her smile faltered—not vanished, just softened. She exhaled quietly. “Because we’re older now,” she said after a moment. “It’s not the same as when we were kids.”

“Oh,” Elias said. The word felt heavier than it should have.

They stood there, the lamp above them humming faintly. He thought of a hundred things not to say. Instead, what came out was the truth, bare and shaking.

“Could you… teach me how to kiss?”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“I mean—” He rushed on, cheeks burning. “I never kissed a girl properly. Ever. And you’re the only person I’d trust with something like that.”

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t step back. She just looked at him—really looked at him—as if seeing something she’d missed.

“Elias…” she said softly.

“I’m not asking because it’s nothing,” he added, voice low. “I’m asking because it’s you.”

For a long second, neither of them moved. The past pressed close, warm and dangerous.