Irish did not realize how quietly Cordy entered her life.
There was no dramatic confession, no sudden declaration that changed the shape of her days overnight. Instead, he appeared slowly—like a shadow that lengthened with the setting sun, unnoticed at first, then impossible to ignore once it stretched across everything familiar.
Their second meeting was unplanned.
Irish was seated at the campus library one afternoon, surrounded by books stacked higher than her patience. Her brows were drawn together in concentration, lips silently forming words as she reviewed her notes. She was so immersed that she did not hear footsteps until a familiar voice spoke her name.
"Irish?"
She looked up, startled.
Cordy stood there, holding a medical textbook under one arm, uncertainty flickering briefly across his face—as if he, too, was surprised to see her.
"Oh," she said softly. "Hi."
"Hi," he replied, smiling. "I didn't know you studied here."
"I didn't know you did either," she answered, then realized how foolish that sounded. Of course he studied here. He practically lived in libraries.
They laughed—quietly, mindful of the sacred silence of the place.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from her.
Irish hesitated only a second before nodding.
They studied separately but together, sharing the same space without demanding conversation. Every now and then, their eyes would meet, and one of them would smile before returning to their pages. It was comfortable. Natural. As if the world had gently aligned two paths without effort.
When they packed up to leave, Cordy walked her to the gate.
"You're always studying," he said, not teasing, just observing.
"I like knowing I'm doing something right," Irish replied.
He looked at her then—not with amusement, but with admiration.
"That's rare," he said.
From that day on, coincidences became frequent.
They ran into each other in hallways, in cafés near campus, at the bookstore where Irish spent too much time browsing books she could not afford. Each meeting chipped away at the distance between them, replacing it with familiarity.
Cordy never crossed a line.
He never commented on her body. Never pushed conversations into uncomfortable spaces. When others teased him about being too careful, he shrugged it off.
"She deserves respect," he said simply.
Irish noticed everything.
She noticed how he waited for her to finish speaking before responding. How he remembered small details—her favorite drink, her exam schedule, the way she liked sitting near windows. She noticed how he spoke of his future with both confidence and exhaustion, how expectations weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"You must be excited to graduate," she said once.
"I am," he replied honestly. "But I'm also scared."
That surprised her.
"Why?"
"Because after that, there are no more excuses," he said. "No more 'I'm still studying.' Everything I do will matter."
Irish understood that fear more than she expected.
As weeks passed, Grace began noticing subtle changes.
Irish hummed while washing dishes. She checked her phone more often, smiling at messages she did not immediately explain. She stayed up later—not recklessly, but thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling as if replaying conversations in her head.
Grace did not confront her right away.
She waited.
One evening, as they folded laundry together, Grace spoke gently.
"You seem happy."
Irish paused, holding one of her mother's blouses.
"I think I am," she said carefully.
Grace nodded. "Do you want to tell me why?"
There was a long silence.
"There's someone," Irish admitted. "We're just friends."
Grace studied her daughter's face—the sincerity, the caution, the respect still intact.
"How old?" Grace asked.
"Twenty-one," Irish answered honestly.
Grace exhaled slowly.
"What does he do?"
"He's a medical student," Irish said. "Graduating soon."
Grace's hands stilled.
"Does he know your age?"
"Yes," Irish said quickly. "From the beginning."
"And he still talks to you?"
"Yes."
Grace did not smile, but she did not frown either.
"Be careful," she said softly. "Not because you're weak—but because you are young, and not everyone will protect your heart the way I do."
"I know, Mom," Irish said. "I promise."
She meant it.
Cordy officially asked to court Irish on a quiet afternoon, away from crowds and noise.
"I don't want to rush you," he said, standing across from her in a small park near campus. "And I don't want to disrespect your family. But I like you. I want to get to know you properly."
Irish's heart raced, but her voice remained steady.
"I'm sixteen," she said. "My mom will know everything."
"I expect that," he replied. "And I will wait."
That was the moment Irish believed him completely.
Grace met Cordy not long after.
He came to their house dressed modestly, greeted her with respect, and spoke honestly about his intentions. He did not promise perfection—only sincerity.
Grace listened carefully.
She saw how Cordy looked at Irish—not with hunger, not with ownership, but with gentleness. She saw how Irish stayed grounded, how she did not lose herself in his presence.
And so, Grace allowed it.
With boundaries.
With trust.
With constant reminders.
"Not yet," Grace would say when conversations grew serious.
"I know, Mom," Irish always answered.
Their relationship grew in patience.
Dates were simple—walks, shared meals, long conversations about dreams and fears. Cordy never pressured her. When Irish felt overwhelmed, he gave her space. When Cordy struggled with stress, Irish listened.
But not everyone approved.
Cordy's family grew increasingly distant.
"She's too young," his mother said bluntly.
"She will distract you," his father added.
Cordy defended Irish, but tension lingered. He began spending less time at home, more time buried in studies, in silence.
Irish sensed the strain but did not complain.
She believed love required understanding.
She just supported Cordy. She encourage him to show that he will become a much better person.
The same thing did Cordy did for Irish. He push her to excell more in her studies. He even assisted her on her researches and assignments.
Both did well on their field of studies but still Cordy's parent is half hearted with their relationship.