It’s different.
It’s the kind that settles deep in your bones instead of rattling them. The kind that feels earned. The kind that feels like her.
I’m parked right outside Ivory’s campus building. The engine is off, and the window is cracked just enough to let the early spring air drift in. The breeze carries the smell of freshly cut grass and cheap cafeteria coffee. And for whatever reason, it hits me right in the chest.
She’s tucked away in there somewhere, probably sitting in the front row, notebook open, legs tucked under her, while her dark hair falls around her face as she scribbles down every word like it matters.
She loves it here.
And I love that she loves it.
My phone buzzes with a notification from the business line; another client inquiry. That makes six this week. The security company I started in this new town is doing better than I expected. Better than I thought I deserved.
I silence the phone.
Work can wait.
Ivory never asks me to pick her up. She says she can take the shuttle, or walk, or ride with friends. And she’s right…she could. She’s growing into herself more every day.
But I like being here.
I like seeing her walk out of that building with her backpack slung over one shoulder, cheeks flushed from the cold classroom, eyes bright from learning something new.
I like being the one she walks toward.
The doors open, and students spill out in groups; laughing, talking, shoving each other playfully. And then I see her.
She’s wearing a soft cream sweater and jeans that hug her ass in a way that tests every ounce of self-control every damn time. Her hair is falling loosely down her back, with a few strands framing her face. She’s smiling at something one of her friends says, and the sight of it hits me like a punch.
She looks… happy.
Really, genuinely happy.
I didn’t know how much I needed to see that until now.
When she spots me leaning against the truck her whole expression changes. Her face lights up, making me feel as if I’m her favorite part of the day.
She says goodbye to her friends and starts walking toward me, her steps small but confident. She moves differently now. Less like she’s trying to disappear, and more like she knows she’s allowed to exist.
“Hi,” she says sweetly, stepping into my space.
“Hey, angel.”
Instinctively, my hand finds her waist. It always does.
“You’re early,” she teases.
“Or you’re late.”
She rolls her eyes but is still smiling. “I made a friend today.”
“I saw.” I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You looked happy.”
“I am.” She says it like she’s still getting used to the feeling. “Are you?”
I don’t answer right away. I just look at her; really look at her. The girl who used to keep her head down, flinching at her own shadow, now stands tall and confident. The girl who whispered instead of speaking out loud or when spoken to, now laughs loud enough for the world to hear. The girl who thought she was a burden now knows she has a purpose.
And for some reason, she chose me.
