His POV

She always takes her time.

Never rushes when she walks out the door, even when I’m already here—leaning against the car, pretending I’m not checking the time.

But I always do.

I heard the door click a few seconds ago. Heels tapping against the pavement. Rhythmic. Confident. Like she owns the whole street and knows it.

I don’t look up right away. Just stay leaning back on the hood of my car, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the same screen I’ve been pretending to scroll for the past five minutes.

But I know she’s there.

And when I do glance up—yeah.

She looks good.

Hair’s down today. Not curled or dramatic, just… neater. Softer around her jaw. She’s done something to it. Not much—just a trim, maybe. Most guys wouldn’t notice. But I do.

She’s wearing that jacket again—the one that always falls off one shoulder no matter how many times she pulls it back up. Crop top underneath. Lips a little glossy. Expression bored, as usual.

She stops in front of me, tilts her head.

“Well?” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Well what?”

She shifts her weight, one hand on her hip. “Do you notice anything?”

She’s fishing. And she’s bad at pretending she’s not.

I let my eyes run over her—slow, lazy on purpose. She knows I’m doing it, and she lets me. From her messy hair to her white sneakers. Everything familiar. Everything annoyingly good-looking.

There’s something sharper today. Her eyeliner? Maybe. But that’s not what she wants me to see.

I look again.

Ends of her hair are cleaner. Shorter. It moves differently when she breathes. Yeah—she got it trimmed. Most guys wouldn’t say anything. Or they’d say the sweet thing.

But I’m not most guys.

So I let the corner of my mouth twitch, and with the flattest voice I can manage, I say—

“Your boobs look bigger.”