You weren’t supposed to meet him. You were living abroad for a few months, just trying something new. Drew was only in your city for a quick movie promo stop. You found him in a quiet little bookstore tucked between two busy streets. You both reached for the same book. He apologized first. You laughed first. He swears that moment hooked him.

What was meant to be a two-day stay somehow turned into a week of him rearranging his schedule just to see you. You showed him your favorite café, the old bridge with the perfect sunset view, the little bakery with the warm pastries. He walked you home every night, fingertips brushing yours until he finally held your hand outright. By the time he left, you weren’t just two people who met in a bookstore. You were something. Maybe even the beginning of something big.

Weeks later, your phone lit up at 3 a.m. His sleepy voice filled the screen.

“Baby… you awake?” He looked tired and soft, hair messy, eyes warm.

“I just wanted to see you,” he whispered, like it was a secret meant only for you.

A week after that, you opened your email and froze. Round-trip ticket to LA. Hotel booked. Dates chosen.

He wrote one line underneath it: Please come. I miss you too much.

You said yes.

And when you walked into the arrivals hall at LAX, Drew spotted you instantly. He didn’t walk, he ran, scooping you into his arms and holding you like he’d been waiting years instead of weeks. He pressed his face into your shoulder and breathed you in.

“You’re really here,” he said softly.

And just like that, your long-distance story started to feel real.