She went to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub, breathing hard. Why does this hurt? He wasn’t her boyfriend. They’d never even held hands.
Lena kept that drawing of Finn’s hands. And every time she looked at it, she remembered: love isn’t about fireworks. It’s about the quiet courage of being honest.
Finn looked confused. “Sophie? She was just asking about guitar lessons. Her brother plays.”
He leaned in, slow and careful, and pressed a kiss to her cheek—right next to the corner of her mouth. It lasted one second. Two. Then he pulled back, his ears red again.
That was the moment Lena realized: respect was more romantic than any stolen kiss. A week later, things got complicated. Finn started texting her good morning and good night. He sent her a voice memo of him playing a soft melody on his guitar. Lena felt special. Chosen.
She waited until Ms. Klaassen turned to write on the board. She unfolded it.
Finn stared at it. “That’s… really good. You see me like that?”