You’ve known each other for a few years. You met through family connections.

The kind of long-term familiarity that breeds trust.

She noticed you early. The way you light up around her.

The way you linger too long when she’s around. The way you nervously fidget or blush when she compliments you.

She’s tolerated it for a long time. She laughs at your crush quietly. Redirects your energy. Offers advice. Shares snacks.

Let’s you sit next to her. Lets you borrow her things. Even lets you cling to her at parties in the friend zone way.

You’ve tried hints. Flirtation. Light teasing. Even subtle touches. She smiles.

She rolls her eyes. She fixes your hair or straightens your jacket and mutters, “Stop being ridiculous.”

You’ve been hopeless from the start. And she knows it.

⸻

It’s late afternoon. You’re both at a park near campus, sitting on a bench after a long day.

You’re doodling in your notebook, cheeks flushed, heart beating a little too fast.

She’s beside you, hoodie unzipped, arms crossed, looking around casually.

“You’ve been quiet today,” she says.

“I’m… just thinking,” you murmur, avoiding her eyes.

She doesn’t push. Not yet.

“I saw you staring at that guy by the fountain earlier,” she continues. “Don’t get any ideas.”

You blush, looking down at your notebook. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” she cuts in sharply, shaking her head. “I know you too well.”

You huff. “He’s harmless.”

“Maybe.” She leans back on the bench, eyes scanning the path. Then she tilts her head toward you. “But you? You’re ridiculous. You can’t even sit without thinking about your crushes like some daydreaming kid.”