Back in her dorm, Sky sat on her bed and stared at the ceiling.
The air felt thinner there. Her roommate was gone for the weekend, so the room was still and dim—unlike Ayana's place, where every corner held warmth.
Sky reached into her bag and pulled out her journal. The entry came slowly, but when it did, it felt like a quiet exhale.
Maybe love isn't the lightning bolt or the ache.
Maybe it's the way she holds silence with me.
Maybe it's the way she doesn't ask me to be anyone but exactly this.
I'm still learning what it means to be chosen.
But today, I believe her.
Monday came faster than expected.
The moment Sky walked across campus, she could feel it—that invisible pressure of being seen. She wasn't sure if it was real or in her head, but eyes felt sharper. Whispers felt closer.
She kept her head down.
At her literature class, Kairo slid into the seat next to her. He didn't say anything at first—just offered her half a granola bar and a soft smile.
She took it.
After class, as they walked toward the library, he finally spoke.
"You're glowing."
Sky laughed, caught off guard. "What?"
"I mean it. You look… softer. Brighter. Like something happened."
Sky didn't answer.
He nodded. "I won't pry. I just—whatever it is, I'm happy for you. Even if it's not with me."
Sky stopped walking. "Kairo…"
"It's okay," he said quickly. "I like you. I won't pretend I don't. But I like your happiness more. So if that's her—Ayana—I can live with that."
Sky stared at him. "You knew?"
"I guessed. The way you talk about her. The way she looks at you in lecture. I'm not blind."
Sky looked down. "It's complicated."
"All good things are," Kairo said with a shrug. "Doesn't mean they're wrong."
She felt her throat tighten again.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He nodded. "Anytime."
That evening, back in her room, Sky got a message.
Made soup. Enough for two. Just saying.
—Ayana
Sky smiled at the screen.
She typed back.
Save me a bowl. I'll be there in twenty.
And for once, she didn't second-guess it.
She just went.
The door was already unlocked when she arrived.
Ayana stood barefoot in the kitchen, wearing an apron and humming softly to a jazz track playing in the background. Her face lit up when she turned.
"Hey, stranger."
Sky dropped her bag and stepped into her arms without a word.
The hug said everything.
Over soup and crusty bread, they talked about mundane things—grading, class schedules, the new art exhibit on campus. But under it all was something soft and steady:
Trust.
Sky reached across the table and traced the back of Ayana's hand. "Thank you for waiting. For not rushing this."
Ayana turned her palm over and laced their fingers. "You were never late."