We didn't call it a date.
That would've made it feel too serious, too fast.
So we said we were "just hanging out."
Like that made it safer.
We met at a small café near campus. Nothing fancy. Just plastic chairs, soft music, and people minding their business. I got there first. Sat down. Checked my phone too many times.
When he walked in, I knew immediately.
Not because he was loud or trying too hard.
But because my heart shifted like it recognized him before my eyes did.
He wore a black hoodie and jeans. Simple. Clean. Like he didn't stress over impressions.
"You're early," he said, sitting across from me.
"I'm not," I replied. "You're late."
He laughed. "Fair."
For a few seconds, we just stared at each other, smiling like two people who didn't know how this was supposed to go.
"So," he said. "What do you like?"
I shrugged. "Sleep. Music. Quiet places."
He nodded slowly. "That explains your eyes."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"They look like someone who's always thinking."
I looked away. People always notice that part of me. I never know how to feel about it.
We talked. About nothing. About everything. Childhood memories. Bad habits. Things we hated. Things we pretended not to care about.
Time moved fast. Too fast.
At some point, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then turned it face down on the table.
"Problem?" I asked.
He hesitated. Just a second. But I saw it.
"No," he said. "Just noise."
Something about that answer didn't sit right.
When we stood up to leave, he walked me part of the way. The street was quieter than usual. The sky was soft, like it hadn't decided what mood it was in.
"Mira," he said, stopping suddenly.
"Yeah?"
He looked at me like he was choosing his words carefully.
"I'm not good at pretending," he said. "If I like someone, I show it. If I don't… I disappear."
My chest tightened. "And which one is this?"
He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough to feel his presence.
"This is me trying."
For a second, I thought he might kiss me.
I wanted him to.
But he didn't.
Instead, he smiled and stepped back.
"I'll text you when you get home," he said.
I nodded. "Okay."
When I got home, I waited.
And waited.
No text.
An hour passed. Then two.
I told myself not to overthink it.
But overthinking is what I do best.
I checked my phone one last time before sleeping.
Still nothing.
That night, I realized something.
We weren't strangers anymore.
We weren't friends either.
We were stuck in that dangerous space in between.
Almost something.