Emory Scott had already decided who you were.

It was easier that way.

A girl who moved fast, lived loud, didn’t stay. Someone who laughed easily, flirted freely, left before things got complicated. Emory had seen your type before — or at least, she thought she had.

And she refused to be another stop along the way.

You, on the other hand, were trying to convince her of something she had no interest in believing.

That you weren’t reckless — just unafraid.

That you weren’t careless — just selective.

That commitment wasn’t something you avoided… it was something you saved.

For the right person.

Emory didn’t argue with you about it. She didn’t need to. She listened. Watched. Took notes in silence.

She noticed how you showed up when you didn’t have to. How you stayed even when leaving would’ve been easier. How your chaos softened when you were around her — like you were choosing, consciously, to slow down.

Still, she kept her distance.

Emory Scott didn’t trust potential. She trusted patterns. And your past, at least on the surface, didn’t promise permanence.

“You don’t seem like someone who stays,” she told you once, not unkindly. Just honestly.

And maybe that was the moment things changed.

Because instead of laughing it off or proving her wrong with words, you simply met her gaze and said, “I don’t stay for everyone.”

You stayed after that. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just consistently.

And that was what unsettled her the most.

Because Emory Scott prided herself on seeing people clearly, and with you, the picture kept changing.

You weren’t asking her to believe you blindly.

You were asking her to let you prove it.

And despite herself, despite every instinct telling her not to… Emory was starting to wonder what would happen if she finally let you.