Dawn
The bell rang, and I was already on my feet.
I waited just outside Earl's classroom, pretending to scroll through my phone while my attention stayed glued to the doorway. Students filtered past in noisy clusters, laughing, complaining, shoving each other playfully. None of them mattered.
Then Earl stepped out.
His eyes found mine almost instantly, like he'd been looking for me too. That small, familiar smile appeared, soft and a little shy, and just like that, my chest felt lighter.
"Hey," he said, adjusting the strap of his bag.
"Hey," I replied, probably a little too quickly.
We fell into step beside each other, walking toward the doors that led outside. Our shoulders didn't touch, but they were said to be close enough that I could feel his presence like warmth radiating through the air.
We didn't talk much at first. Not because it was awkward because it wasn't. The quiet felt comfortable, like something carefully shared. Leaves crunched beneath our shoes, and the late-morning sun cast long shadows across the path.
The spot I'd mentioned was tucked behind the gym, shaded by a line of trees that muffled the noise from the rest of campus. When we reached it, Earl paused, looking around.
"It's nice," he said softly. "I didn't know this was here."
"I come here when I need to think," I admitted, then added quickly, "Or when it's too loud inside."
He nodded, like that made perfect sense.
We sat on the low concrete edge near the grass, close but not touching. I set my lunch down between us, suddenly hyper-aware of everything, my hands, my posture, the way my heart wouldn't slow down.
Earl opened his own lunch carefully. "So… how was your self-study?"
I huffed a quiet laugh. "Slow. Really slow."
He smiled at that, glancing down at his food. "Yeah… time does that sometimes."
For a few minutes, we ate in silence. Not the heavy kind. The kind that let me breathe. The kind that made me notice small things, how he always broke his food into neat pieces, how he hummed under his breath without realizing it.
I risked a glance at him.
Bad idea.
Sunlight filtered through the trees and caught in his curls again, and suddenly I was thinking about last night. About garlic and tomato sauce. About his careful hands and that shy laugh he didn't seem to use very often.
I looked away quickly.
"So," I said, too casually, "you cook a lot?"
He tilted his head, considering. "Sometimes. When I'm stressed. Or occasionally."
Something warm settled in my chest.
"You're really good at it," I said. "Like… really good."
His ears turned pink. "Thanks."
We ate a little more. Then he spoke again, quieter this time.
"I'm glad you asked me to eat with you."
I froze for half a second, then forced myself to relax. "Yeah?"
He nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. "I don't usually… do this. But with you, it feels easier."
That did it.
Every stray thought, every bit of doubt, every overthinking spiral—all of it softened into something gentler. Something steady.
"I feel that too," I said honestly. "Being around you just… makes things quieter."
He looked up at me then, really looked at me, and smiled. Not shy this time. Just warm.
We sat there until lunch was nearly over, talking about nothing important and everything at once. Classes, favorite foods, random thoughts that drifted in and out like clouds.
When the warning bell rang, neither of us moved right away.
"I guess we should head back," I said reluctantly.
"Yeah," he agreed, just as reluctant.
We stood, brushing dust from our clothes. For a moment, we lingered too close to leave, too unsure to say more.
"I'll see you later?" he asked.
I nodded. "Definitely."
As we walked back toward the building, I realized something that made my steps feel lighter.
My thoughts weren't racing ahead or looping backward.
They were right here.
With him.