I reached home around 4 p.m.
I wanted to sleep, but the thought of seeing him again—even in a dream—made me hesitate.
He had started to occupy so much space in my mind that I was afraid he'd show up there too.
Instead, I sat on my bed, made myself a cup of cappuccino, and began reading The Silent Patient, a novel I'd borrowed from a friend. But somewhere between the chapters, my mind drifted back to the library scene.
Why was I overthinking it?
Shouldn't I just be happy that he started a conversation—that maybe it was a small step toward something more?
And yet, deep down, I was scared. Because if anything were to happen between us and it didn't last… I wouldn't just lose someone special. I'd lose my best friend too.
Attachment terrifies me.
Every time I've let someone in, it's ended in pain—either they drift away or I end up doubting myself.
Maybe I'm not made for friendships that grow too close.
Maybe I just need reassurance—a little too often.
Anyway, I shook the thoughts off. Enough overthinking for one day.
---
The next morning at university, I was sitting at the kiosk with my friends.
Yes, I'd finally made a few—some dramatic, some genuine.
But I stayed close only to Stella and Emma. They were kind, honest, and refreshingly real, unlike most others who wore masks of friendliness.
I was sipping my iced tea when I heard someone call my name.
And of course, I'd recognize that voice anywhere.
"Hey, Lizzie, what are you up to?" Gabriel said, walking toward me.
I smiled automatically. "Hey, nothing much," I replied, shaking his hand.
That firm grip—steady and calm. I tried not to grin too wide.
He asked if I could help him find a certain book in the library.
Library. Again.
I agreed, said a quick goodbye to Stella and Emma, and followed him through the hallway.
He walked slightly ahead of me—confident, quiet, and effortlessly graceful.
We reached the literature section.
"Think we'll find the gothic novels here?" he asked.
"Maybe," I said, tracing my fingers along the spines of the books.
A moment later, he called my name, and when I turned—he was right behind me.
"Hey, I think I found it," he said, holding a book.
We sat down at a nearby table and flipped through its pages.
While reading, his knee brushed against mine. Just a touch—but enough to make me aware of how close we were.
I forced myself to focus on the text.
"Umm… I wanted to tell you something," he said.
My heart picked up its pace. "What is it?"
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze steady on mine.
"Nothing serious," he said finally, smiling a little. "Just… thanks. For always helping me out."
I smiled back. "You don't have to thank me for that."
He shook his head. "Still, I wanted to."
That small smile he gave me in response… it made everything stop for a second.
---
That evening, I was curled up in bed watching The Summer I Turned Pretty.
There was a scene where Belly—drunk and honest—talked to Conrad about the infinity necklace.
And somehow, it reminded me of Gabriel.
Not because of anything dramatic, but because of the quiet way he made me feel seen.
It's strange—how someone's presence can feel like home without them even trying.
---
The next day at university, I sat at my usual last-bench seat.
A few minutes later, the door opened—and there he was.
Tall. Effortless. Black shirt. Jeans. Hair falling just right.
The world slowed down for a second.
He looked at me and smiled.
My heart stuttered.
He sat next to me and said, "Hey, what's up?"
I smiled, trying to sound casual. "Good. You?"
But my gaze betrayed me—it drifted to his lips before I could stop it.
The professor entered, and we turned our attention to the lecture.
But then his shoulder brushed mine. Just lightly.
And again, that warmth spread through me.
I tried to focus on my notes, but when I caught him copying from my notebook, I almost laughed. He looked so serious, yet so effortlessly charming.
After class, as I packed up, he turned and said,
"Hey, want to grab a coffee?"
It wasn't a date—just a friendly invite. But still, my heart skipped.
At the canteen, we ordered iced lattes and sat at a corner table.
The conversation was simple—college work, random jokes, books we liked.
But the way he listened, really listened, made it feel different.
Sometimes it's not what someone says—it's how present they are when you speak.
---
Later that evening, I replayed the day in my mind.
There was no confession, no dramatic moment.
Just quiet, genuine connection.
And maybe that's what love is supposed to be—
not loud or sudden,
but soft, steady, and real.
I think I'm in love.
Love that feels gentle, not rushed.
Love that feels like safety, not fear.
Maybe it's him—the one I was meant to meet.
In English, we say I love you.
But in French, we say Tu me manques.
It doesn't mean "I miss you."
It means You are missing from me.
Maybe that's what this is.
Maybe God doesn't always give us what we want—
but sometimes, He gives us what we truly need.
And maybe, just maybe—
I needed him