Like I didn’t see that flicker of disappointment on her face.
I shift in my seat, dragging a hand down my face.
Say something.
Anything.
“You didn’t have to drive me,” I say.
That’s not what I meant to say.
“I know,” she replies. “But I didn’t want you to call an Uber. Or your brother.”
There’s a teasing smile before she looks away.
And I... don’t know exactly what that means.
Is she driving me home because she feels obligated? Or because she wants to?
I glance over at her. She’s focused on the road, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting loosely in her lap. Composed as always.
I look away.
“What?” she asks after a beat.
I blink. “What?”
“You’re staring again.”
My stomach drops slightly. “Am I?”
Her lips curve faintly. “You do that.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Didn’t realize it was a habit.”
“It is,” she says. “But I don’t mind.”
Something about the way she says it makes it sound like she’s giving me permission.
It makes it harder to breathe.
I shift again, tugging at the collar of my shirt.
Say something else.Fix it.
“I didn’t mean to just… shut it down.”
There’s a small pause. “I know.”
I frown slightly. “You do?”
She nods once, her eyes still on the road. “You get overwhelmed,” she says simply. “It happens.”
The words hit harder than they should.
She’s right.
She noticed but didn’t call me out.
