Days passed.
We grew closer—not in the dramatic, movie-like way, but in small, quiet moments.
The kind that feel ordinary to the world but extraordinary to me.
He'd ask how my day was.
I'd help him with his notes.
We'd sit together during lectures, share snacks, exchange playlists.
He didn't have to say much; his presence was enough.
And maybe that's the beauty of it—some bonds don't need loud declarations.
---
That morning at university, the air felt strangely calm.
I was sitting at my usual last-bench seat, scrolling through my phone when he walked in.
Black hoodie, messy hair, earphones around his neck—God, he looked effortlessly perfect.
He smiled when he saw me.
"Hey, Lizzie. You came early today?"
"Yeah," I smiled. "For once."
He laughed softly and sat beside me.
We talked—about assignments, professors, random jokes. Nothing special.
But the way he looked at me when I laughed, the way his fingers brushed mine when he passed a pen—
It was enough to make my world stop for a second.
During the lecture, he leaned over to peek at my notes.
"Your handwriting's getting better," he teased.
"Oh really? You just say that so I'll do your assignments again," I said, rolling my eyes.
He grinned. "Well, maybe."
The conversation was simple. But inside, my heart was chaos.
He didn't have to do anything extraordinary; just being him was enough to make me fall harder.
---
After class, we walked out together.
The sun was setting, and everything had that warm, golden glow.
"Hey, coffee?" he asked casually.
I looked at him. "Now?"
"Yeah. Unless you've got better plans."
I smiled. "Not really."
We sat at the corner table in the canteen, talking about everything and nothing.
It wasn't a date. But it wasn't just friendship either.
Every glance, every word, every silence between us carried something—something gentle and unspoken.
Maybe I was still imagining things.
Maybe I was reading too much into moments that weren't meant to mean anything.
But maybe… just maybe… they did.
---
I got home that evening and couldn't stop smiling.
There was no confession, no dramatic scene.
Just a quiet, simple day with him—
And somehow, that was enough.
Loving him comes in waves,
and tonight,
I'm drowning again.
But if loving him is wrong,
I don't want to be right anymore.
Sometimes love isn't about confessions or labels.
It's about comfort—the way your heart feels calm around one person in a loud, chaotic world.
And maybe, that's what Gabriel is to me.
My calm in the chaos.