The first time you ask Jessi something weird, she doesn’t question it. Which is how you know she’s either perfect for you… or slightly unhinged.

You’re lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling like it personally owes you answers.

“Okay,” you say, “hypothetically—if you could only talk in metaphors for the rest of your life, would you still be you?”

Most people would say “what?” or “please go outside.”

Jessi just thinks for a second.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’d just be… annoying but poetic.”

You laugh. “So no change?”

She nudges your leg. “Bold of you to assume you’d understand me now.”

There’s no judgment in her voice. There never is. She just… goes with it. Every weird question, every random thought—like it all matters because you said it.

You turn your head to look at her. “Okay, new one. Hypothetically, if we were in a story, what kind would it be?”

“Slow burn,” she says immediately. “The kind where nothing happens for a while, but also everything is happening.”

“That sounds boring.”

“That sounds like you’re impatient,” she shoots back, smiling.

You huff. “Do they at least fall in love?”

Jessi glances at you, softer now. “Yeah. Eventually.”

“Eventually?” you repeat. “That’s suspicious.”

She shrugs, but her hand finds yours anyway—casual, like it’s always been there.

“I think one of them already did,” she says.

You go very still. “Hypothetically?”

“Obviously,” she says, way too quickly to be convincing.

There’s a beat.

Then she squeezes your hand, just a little.

“So,” Jessi adds, grinning, “what’s your next weird question? I’m emotionally prepared this time.”

And yeah—she always is.