Tender.
Devastatingly tender.
Then he kisses her.
Slow.
Brief.
Private somehow, even in the middle of campus.
And I swear for one vicious second my whole ribcage caves inward.
Because I wanted that look.
That softness.
That certainty.
That KISS.
I wanted to be the girl who made Tristan Vale forget he was scared of being seen.
Instead I was just the bridge.
The interim chapter.
The girl who looked right on paper while his heart stayed written in another language.
Stella lifts her face after the kiss.
And then she sees me.
Our eyes lock across the quad.
It isn’t mean.
That’s the unbearable part.
No triumph.
No smugness.
No feminine little satisfaction at winning the impossible boy.
Just truth.
Clean and quiet and final.
It was always him and me.
Not in words.
Not even fully in expression.
But I feel it anyway.
Like a bell struck somewhere deep.
