I could feel my heart hammering the entire way to the bistro. My backpack was zipped shut, my shoes tied, my hair… well, mostly cooperating. But nothing I could do seemed enough. Because I was about to sit across from Damien. Damien, who was calm, collected, and… impossibly mature. Damien, who had managed to make my heart spin and my knees feel weak in a single, quiet encounter on the sidewalk.
I had spent the entire morning trying to convince myself that I was being ridiculous. He's older. Ten years older. He probably has women in his life who are sophisticated and accomplished. You're just… you.
And yet, as I approached the bistro, my stomach fluttered, my palms were clammy, and my mind was already replaying the brief moments we had shared. I knew, somehow, that my life was about to shift in a way I wasn't ready for.
He was waiting outside, leaning casually against the car, hands in his pockets. The sun glinted off his watch as he straightened and smiled when he saw me. My cheeks heated instantly.
"Kylee," he said, calm and certain, and my stomach did that wild somersault again.
"Hi," I breathed, clutching my bag like it was a life raft.
"You look nice," he added softly, and I almost melted on the spot.
I could barely form coherent thoughts as I got into the car. He didn't say much during the drive, which only made me overthink more. I found myself stealing glances at him, noticing the way his jaw was set, the steady grip on the wheel, the calm expression that somehow made him look untouchable and safe all at once.
He's ten years older. He's probably lived a life I can't even imagine. Why would he be here with me?
And yet, when I looked into his eyes, I didn't feel small or foolish. I felt… noticed. Seen. Important.
The bistro was quiet, tucked away behind a row of tall trees. I hadn't noticed before how peaceful it seemed. Damien slid my chair out for me, and I couldn't stop thinking about the contrast between him and the world I usually navigated — clumsy, loud, chaotic. He moved as if the world bent around him, while I always felt like I stumbled through it.
"Do you come here often?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Not really," he replied. "I thought it would be a quiet place to talk."
His tone was calm, almost soft, but it made me want to lean across the table and tell him everything about my life. And maybe I did — at least a little. I babbled about my literature classes, my favorite authors, the ways I imagined my own life in stories I hadn't yet written. And he listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't roll his eyes. He just… listened.
"You see the world differently," he said after a pause, leaning back slightly. "Most people your age see chaos, grades, or the next party. You see… meaning. Depth."
My stomach flipped.
"I guess… I've always been like that," I admitted softly. "Books let me feel things I can't in real life."
"Then maybe I should read more books," he said, and I laughed softly, feeling a warmth I hadn't expected.
The conversation meandered through books, classes, and dreams. Every time I tried to imagine him judging me, he proved me wrong. He didn't see me as naïve. He didn't see me as just a college girl. He saw me. And that realization made me feel lightheaded and brave all at once.
We laughed about small things — a waiter's clumsy spill, a passerby with a ridiculous hat — and each laugh seemed to draw us closer, quietly, steadily. There were no fireworks, no dramatic gestures. And yet, in the silence between words, I could feel something incredible forming. Something real. Something intentional.
Maybe this is what love feels like, I thought. Not chaotic or dramatic. Just… steady.
But then, of course, my mind wandered into dangerous territory. What about our families?
I knew my parents would disapprove. Damien was ten years older — established, wealthy, polished. And I was Kylee — young, inexperienced, still figuring out my life. They'll think I'm too young. Too naïve. Too silly.
And Damien's family? They probably viewed me as someone entirely unworthy. A college girl. Not serious enough. Too… soft.
I pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on how his eyes followed mine as I spoke, how he occasionally brushed a stray hair from his forehead, and how calmly he listened. And somehow, that quiet care was more intoxicating than any dramatic declaration could be.
After lunch, Damien suggested a walk in a small park nearby. The sunlight poured through the trees, casting a soft glow on the pathway. I felt like I had stepped into one of those storybook moments I had always read about — the quiet, intimate ones, where words weren't necessary because the feeling between two people said everything.
We walked side by side, our steps unhurried. He didn't hold my hand. He didn't force conversation. He simply… existed with me. And I found myself stealing glances at him, heart fluttering, mind racing with impossible thoughts: Why does he make me feel this way? How can one person be so… calm and steady, and yet make my entire world spin?
He glanced at me once, faintly, and I felt a jolt. Not like someone demanding attention, but like he was silently telling me I mattered. And for a moment, I thought the world had narrowed down to just the two of us — me, stumbling over my own feet, and Damien, deliberate and composed, who somehow made me feel like I could belong in his world.
By the time we returned to the car, I felt both exhilarated and terrified. I didn't want the day to end. I didn't want to return to my dorm room and ordinary life, where no one spoke in deliberate, measured tones that made you feel like your heart mattered.
He noticed my quiet, I think. His hand brushed lightly against mine — barely touching, but enough.
"Kylee," he said softly, "you're enough. Right now, just being you is all that matters to me."
And I believed it. Maybe for the first time in my life, I believed it.
That night, I sat on my bed with my textbooks scattered around me, my mind replaying every detail of the day. His smile. The gentle way he had looked at me. The calm, steady energy that somehow made me feel… alive.
I had imagined love as fireworks, as chaos, as heart-stopping intensity. But Damien's love — or whatever this was — was quieter, steadier, intentional. It didn't have to scream to exist. And somehow, that made it feel more magical than anything I had dreamed of.
"I don't know where this is going," I whispered into the darkness, "but I've noticed him. And maybe, just maybe… I want more than imagination. I want reality."
And for the first time, lying on my bed surrounded by scattered books and the fading light of day, I felt like I had found it.