(Ben's POV)
Ben had never been good at sitting still. He was always moving, talking, doing something. But lately, when it came to Lizzy, stillness felt right like silence was the language she trusted most.
He watched her from across the library, her hair tucked behind one ear, a pencil resting lightly between her fingers. She wasn't writing this time just staring out the window, lost in some far-off place.
There was something about her quiet that made him want to protect it. Not fix her, not rescue her just stand guard while she found her way back to herself.
He remembered the first time he saw her cry not the tears she tried to hide, but the moment afterward, when she smiled like nothing happened. That smile had haunted him for weeks, the kind of smile that carried the weight of survival.
"Ben?" Funmi's voice pulled him back. She sat beside him, her notebook filled with accounting formulas. "You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes."
He grinned faintly. "Just thinking."
"About Lizzy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He didn't deny it. "Yeah."
Funmi studied him for a moment. "She's been through a lot, you know."
"I know," Ben said quietly. "I'm not trying to rush her. I just want to be there… if she lets me."
Funmi's expression softened. "That's good. She needs people who stay."
Later that evening, he found Lizzy under the oak tree again. She was sketching something small, delicate lines forming the shape of a bird.
"You draw too?" he asked, sitting beside her.
"Sometimes," she said without looking up. "It helps when words aren't enough."
He smiled. "That's beautiful."
She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "It's supposed to be a sparrow."
"Why a sparrow?"
Lizzy hesitated. "Because they're small, but they never stop flying."
Ben nodded slowly. "Kind of like you."
Her breath hitched just slightly, and for a moment, she couldn't find the right words. He looked at her the way someone looks at a piece of music like every note mattered.
"Ben," she said softly, "why are you so kind to me?"
He smiled faintly. "Because I know what it's like to feel like you're too much and not enough at the same time."
Her eyes widened. "You?"
He nodded. "I grew up being told I'd never be good enough. For a long time, I believed it. Until someone showed me I could be loved without earning it."
Lizzy looked down at her drawing again, tracing the bird's wings. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," he said. "But it's possible."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of pine and wet soil. Lizzy closed her journal and looked up at the fading light.
"Do you think it's possible for people like us to be happy?" she asked.
Ben's voice was gentle, steady. "I think people like us understand happiness better than most because we've seen what it costs."
And somehow, that answer was enough.
That night, when Lizzy lay in bed, she replayed his words over and over. She didn't know what this was between them, but for the first time in years, her heart didn't ache it remembered what peace felt like.