Theo stirs his coffee absently, eyes fixed on the rain sliding down the window. He’s talking about something—his job, his weekend, a memory you weren’t part of—but all you can hear is your heartbeat.

You smile when he smiles.

You laugh when he laughs.

And inside, you’re breaking.

He looks at you then, soft and open and so close—and says something like:

“You always get me. You know that? I don’t think anyone knows me like you do.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to tell him, “It’s because I love you. I always have.”

But instead, you say: “Yeah. I know.”

He reaches across the table to steal one of your fries. You let him.

And you memorize the moment like it’s your last.