In a blink, I close the distance, like my body refuses to let her sit in that place of doubt a second longer.
My hands find her face, holding her like she's the only thing tethering me to the ground.
"But I did," I rasp, the words ripping out of me before I can think. My chest heaves, stomach twisting, hating myself for every reason I gave her to doubt it.
"I swear, Caroline—I loved you then." My thumbs brush her cheeks, desperate, needing her to feel it. "And I love you now. Still. Always."
The last word comes out hard, raw, like it's carved out of my ribs—like maybe if I say it enough, it'll finally drown out the doubts my past actions left to fester, eating at her every time she looks at me.
She looks like she's fighting not to lean into my touch, like every muscle in her face is begging her to press closer to my hand while the rest of her is dead-set on resisting.
"You think I just noticed you because you fit everyone else's definition of hot now—tiny waist, perfect face, whatever bullshit number people obsess over? No."
I pause, shaking my head as a smile sneaks in, half-nostalgic, half-pained.
"I noticed you the first time you tried a pirouette when you were five, nearly face-planted, and still laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. I told you you were the prettiest ballerina I'd ever seen, and you shot back that I had it wrong—you were the Sugarplum Princess."
The memory hits harder than I expect, and I have to take a breath, my voice softening without me meaning to.
"I noticed you the day you wore braces and spilled orange soda all over your shirt but just kept talking like nothing happened. I noticed you every damn time you showed up with your hair a mess and your hoodie three sizes too big and still managed to light up the whole room."
The corner of my mouth quirks up. "Hell, you lit up my day. Didn't matter if you showed up with a face you swore looked like roadkill on a Monday morning—soon as you walked in, it felt like someone set off the Fourth of July inside my chest. Full-on fireworks, grand finale, the whole damn sky exploding just because it was you."
I drag a hand through my hair, my throat tight as the words keep spilling.
"I hate that I ever made you feel like you weren't good enough to stand next to me. Like you didn't fit whatever 'standard of beauty' people thought I had. Because you did. You do."
I press my forehead to hers, my voice dropping to a rasp.
"You've always been the standard, Caroline. The only one that ever mattered. You don't just tick every box on a checklist—you are the whole damn list."
I exhale hard, shaking my head. "And yeah—you're probably right. Maybe I did care too much about my image back then, about keeping that stupid high school reputation. God, I wish I could go back and shake that version of me, punch him until he got it through his head what really mattered. But I can't. I can't rewrite the past, even if I'd give anything to.
She doesn't move, but her chin trembles.
"I hate that my own fear and stupidity made you feel insecure. That you had to doubt yourself because of me. And I'm reallyreallysorry for being that dumb. If I could take that away, I would. But I can't fix who I was back then."
I drag in a breath, my jaw tight, before forcing myself to go on.
"All I can do is stand here now, in the present — the version of us that's older, smarter, braver — and swear to you I won't ever let you feel that way again."
She studies me, pensive, like she's not sure whether to believe me. "How?"
My mouth quirks into a slow, crooked smirk. "By wooing you."
Caroline actually snorts before she can stop herself, then scrambles to school her face back into neutral. Too late—I catch the gleam in her eyes.
"Wooing?"she repeats, all skeptical.
"Yep." I make sure to pop thep, grinning wider.
She crosses her arms, unimpressed, though the corner of her mouth betrays her with the tiniest twitch."But you don't woo. You've never done that."
I reach up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, close enough to hear the soft hitch in her breath.
"That's because I've been saving it just for you."
"Really?" She sounds like she doesn't buy it for a second, but there's a spark in her eyes I'd kill to keep lit.
