The week was long for April. Work consumed her days with endless revisions and demanding clients, but her nights carried a different rhythm now. Whenever her phone buzzed with a message from Brandy, the weight of the day lifted just enough to make her smile.
He wasn't the type to send long, elaborate texts. His words were simple, sometimes playful, sometimes thoughtful. Saw this sunset, thought of you. Or Don't forget to eat dinner, April.
And yet, each message felt like a thread—delicate but steady—tying her days to his.
So when Brandy called one evening instead of texting, his voice low and a little uncertain, asking, Want to go for a drive?, she didn't hesitate.
The Drive
Brandy's car was nothing fancy, just an old sedan that had clearly seen better days, but April didn't care. She slid into the passenger seat, greeted by the faint smell of pine from the air freshener and a soft hum of music from the radio.
"Where are we going?" she asked, buckling her seatbelt.
"You'll see," Brandy replied with a small smile.
They drove in comfortable silence at first, the city lights fading behind them as he steered toward the open roads on the outskirts of town. The air through the slightly cracked window was cool, tinged with the scent of pine and freshly cut grass.
April leaned her head against the glass, watching the blur of streetlights give way to the dark embrace of countryside. She felt strangely safe, as though Brandy's presence was enough to anchor her no matter where they went.
Finally, he turned down a narrow road lined with trees. The headlights cut through the darkness until the road opened into a clearing. He parked the car on a patch of grass, killed the engine, and turned to her.
"Come on," he said, grabbing a blanket from the backseat.
April followed him out into the clearing. Above them stretched a sky vast and endless, freckled with stars brighter than any she'd seen in the city.
Her breath caught. "It's… beautiful."
Brandy spread the blanket on the ground and sat, gesturing for her to join him. "Figured you'd like it. You seemed like the type who still believed in stars."
April lowered herself beside him, hugging her knees as she gazed upward. "I do. Maybe not as much as I used to, but nights like this remind me why I should."
Brandy lay back on the blanket, his hands folded behind his head. April hesitated only a moment before lying back too, their shoulders almost—but not quite—touching.
For a while, they said nothing, letting the silence stretch, filled only by the whisper of wind through the grass.
The Confession
"April," Brandy said suddenly, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.
"Yes?"
"Do you ever feel like… you're afraid of wanting too much?"
April turned her head slightly, studying his profile in the starlight. His jaw was tense, his eyes fixed on the sky.
"All the time," she admitted. "It feels safer to expect less. To not hope too much. That way, you can't be disappointed."
Brandy exhaled slowly, almost like a laugh but without humor. "Exactly."
April hesitated, then whispered, "But it's lonely too, isn't it?"
He turned to her then, their faces only inches apart. In the faint light, his eyes seemed darker, deeper, pulling her in.
"It is," he admitted. His voice was raw, stripped of all the casual ease he usually carried.
April's heart pounded. The world around them—the grass, the night, the stars—faded until all that remained was the space between his words and her racing pulse.
And then, as though the weight of silence was too much to bear, Brandy said it.
"I like you, April."
Her breath caught.
He swallowed, his gaze steady but vulnerable. "I don't say that easily. But I do. More than I should, probably."
April's heart swelled and ached all at once. She wanted to respond, but the words tangled in her throat. Instead, she whispered the only truth she could manage.
"I like you too, Brandy."
The confession hung in the air, fragile and electric. They didn't move closer, not yet. But the stars above bore witness to the unspoken promise blooming between them.
After the Words
For a while, they lay in silence again, but it was different now—charged, alive. Every breath, every glance carried a new weight.
April finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you say 'more than I should'?"
Brandy looked away, his jaw tightening. "Because getting close to people… it's complicated. And I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," April said softly, though a part of her wondered if she could promise the same.
Brandy gave a faint, almost sad smile. "I hope not."
She reached out then, her fingers brushing his hand. It was the smallest gesture, but it said everything she couldn't yet put into words.
His hand turned, his fingers curling around hers, holding on.
The Ride Back
The drive back was quiet, but not in the way it had been before. The silence between them was full of something new, something tender. April kept replaying his words in her mind, the simple honesty of I like you, April.
When they reached her apartment building, Brandy parked and walked her to the steps. For a moment, they stood there, the night wrapping around them like a secret.
"Thank you," April said softly.
"For what?"
"For trusting me with that."
Brandy's gaze lingered on her, intense and unflinching. "Thank you for not running away."
April smiled faintly, her heart tugging at the edges of something deeper. "Goodnight, Brandy."
He stepped back slowly, his voice low. "Goodnight, April."
That Night
April lay awake long after, her heart restless. She had always dreamed of moments like this—quiet confessions under the stars, words spoken with the weight of honesty. But now that it had happened, it felt both thrilling and terrifying.
Because liking someone wasn't the end of the story. It was the beginning of a thousand uncertainties.
Still, as she drifted to sleep, one thought echoed in her heart.
Don't say goodbye. Not yet.
Meanwhile
Brandy sat in his car outside his apartment, the engine off, the world around him still. He leaned back, closing his eyes.
He had said more than he planned. Confessed what he had promised himself he wouldn't. But when he looked at April, when he heard her laugh, when he felt her silence match his own—he couldn't hold it in anymore.
She scared him. Because she mattered. And people who mattered could break you.
But despite every fear, one truth settled in his chest like a steady heartbeat.
He didn't regret telling her.
Not one bit.