The sky above campus was sprinkled with stars, a soft navy velvet stretching far beyond the city lights. The rooftop of the dormitory was cool, quiet, and hidden — the perfect place to disappear for a while.
Michelle tugged her hoodie tighter around her and leaned back against Steve's shoulder. They were curled up together on an old picnic blanket he had stolen from his car. A thermos of hot cocoa sat beside them, and a gentle breeze danced through her hair.
"This feels… unreal," she whispered, looking up.
Steve chuckled. "You mean the stars? Or us?"
Michelle turned her head slightly, looking up into his face. "Both."
There was a long pause. The kind of silence that felt safe — full of everything neither of them needed to say out loud. Until they did.
Steve broke it first.
"When I was a kid, I used to think I had to be perfect for anyone to love me."
Michelle blinked, surprised by his honesty. "What do you mean?"
He picked at a loose thread on the blanket. "My parents… they're proud people. Always expected a lot. Good grades. Perfect manners. No mistakes. And I got used to pretending like I had it all together, even when I didn't."
Michelle's hand reached for his without hesitation, threading their fingers together.
"You don't have to be perfect for me," she said softly.
Steve smiled, just a little. "I know. That's the thing. You look at me like… like I don't need to try so hard."
She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest now. His heartbeat was steady, soothing.
"My turn," she murmured. "I think I'm terrified of being forgotten."
Steve looked down at her. "Forgotten?"
She nodded slowly. "I've always been the quiet one. The nice one. The one people like, but never pick first. And sometimes I feel like… like I have to work so hard to matter. Like I'm invisible unless I'm useful."
Steve didn't say anything at first. He just held her tighter.
"You're not invisible," he said finally, voice low and firm. "You're unforgettable."
Her throat tightened.
"You matter," he added. "So much. Especially to me."
Tears stung at her eyes — not from sadness, but from the way his words wrapped around her, gentle and true. She turned to face him fully now, her hand cradling his cheek.
"I've never felt safer with anyone," she whispered.
He smiled again, his eyes searching hers. "That's all I ever want to be for you."
Their kiss was soft — slow and full of unspoken promises. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just real.
When they finally pulled apart, the stars were still above them, but the world had shifted.
They weren't just two students hiding from the noise of the world anymore.
They were two hearts learning to trust, to open, to love — and finding peace in each other.