It was one of those evenings that didn't know what it wanted to be—half sunset, half storm.
Campus was golden in places and moody in others, casting long shadows over the lawn as students walked by in lazy silence. Finals were winding down, dorms were slowly emptying, and the end was… close enough to taste.
I'd been walking back from the library, books hugged to my chest like a shield. My thoughts were a mess: Sophie's upcoming move, graduation next week, and a slow-burning ache I hadn't quite named yet.
James was waiting near the old fountain. The one tucked between the music building and the student union, half-forgotten except by us. He leaned against the stone edge, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, head tilted toward the sky like he was arguing with it silently.
When he saw me, he straightened up—fidgety in a way James never was.
"Hey," he said, with that lopsided smile that had started meaning more to me than I wanted to admit.
"Hey," I said, stopping a few feet away.
"Got your text," he added. "You said you found one of my notes in your psych book?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I did. But… that was just an excuse."
His brow lifted slightly.
"To meet me?" he asked.
I nodded again, then paused. "But you beat me to it."
He gave a short laugh. "Okay, weird honesty hour—me too. I told myself I'd casually run into you. Like, oh wow, look who's here! So random. Totally normal."
I laughed, and he smiled wider—until we both realized neither of us was really joking.
There was a silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that asks now or never.
James shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
"Charlotte," he began. "Can I be honest?"
"You've always been honest with me," I said, voice barely above a whisper.
"Not always. Not about this."
My heart picked up speed.
"I was an idiot," he said, eyes locking on mine. "Back then. During Valentine's. I thought I was being kind by drawing the line. I told myself I wasn't ready. I told myself we were better off as friends. But the truth?"
He stepped closer.
"The truth is… I didn't think I deserved someone like you."
My breath caught.
"You weren't loud. Or flashy. Or fighting for attention like everyone else. But you saw people. You saw me. Even when I didn't deserve to be seen."
I didn't know what to say. Every part of me felt like glass, thin and see-through and fragile.
"You've grown so much, Charlotte. But so have I," he said, voice softer now. "And I'd be lying if I said I haven't been falling for you slowly—stupidly—this entire time."
"James…"
"I don't want to mess this up," he added quickly. "I know Sophie's leaving soon. I know graduation is a breath away. I know everything's about to change. But before it does, I need you to know—"
He took my hand.
"If there's still even a little part of you that wants me, I'm here. Not as your friend. Not as your audience. But as someone who truly—honestly—wants to be the person standing beside you in whatever's next."
My eyes burned, but I didn't cry.
"You broke my heart that day," I whispered. "In front of everyone."
"I know," he said. "And I'd take it back if I could. But I can't. So all I can do is show you who I am now—and that I won't make that mistake again."
Silence fell again.
But this time, it was full.
Full of all the unspoken feelings we'd buried under years of missteps and friendship and tension and longing.
I didn't kiss him. Not yet. I wasn't ready for that leap.
But I squeezed his hand back.
And for now… that was everything.