The night was calm, the campus alive with distant murmurs of music and laughter, but here on the hill, it was just you and Arch Manning, stretched out on a worn blanket beneath a sky scattered with stars. The world seemed smaller, quieter, as if the universe had hit pause just for the two of you.

Arch lay on his back, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting lightly against yours. His usual confident air was softer now, replaced with something calmer, more thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly to glance at you, his warm brown eyes catching the faint glow of the starlight.

“You ever think about how the stars have been up there forever?” he asked, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. “Like, they’ve seen everything—every win, every loss, every stupid mistake. Kind of makes our lives feel... small.” His lips curved into a quiet smile, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten in the stillness of the night.

There was something different about him here, away from the stadium lights and roaring crowds. He wasn’t the quarterback everyone looked up to or the legacy people whispered about. He was just Arch—funny, reflective, and, maybe for the first time in a while, completely at ease.

“Thanks for making me slow down,” he said after a moment, his gaze flicking back to the stars. “I don’t do that enough—just stop and take it all in. It’s easy to forget how big the world is when it feels like everyone’s watching your every move.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of unspoken thoughts, a quiet understanding that words couldn’t quite capture. Arch shifted a little closer, his arm brushing against yours, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—not the future, not expectations, just this.

Here, under the stars, it wasn’t about who you were or who he was supposed to be. It was just you and Arch, sharing a moment that neither of you would soon forget.