She kissed him.
Not on the lips.
Not in a way that demanded anything.
But still—she kissed him.
And now the passenger seat felt empty in a different kind of way.
Alexander sat in silence, his hands still on the wheel like he was afraid the car would float away without him if he moved. The street outside the dorm was quiet—late enough that most students were already in, early enough that the city hadn't fully settled into its midnight hush.
He should drive.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Because that—whatever that had just been—deserved a minute.
Maybe two.
He lifted a hand to where her fingers had touched his face.
He didn't feel different.
But something had shifted.
Something that didn't go away just because she stepped out of the car.
He leaned his head back against the seat and exhaled.
It wasn't about the kiss, not really.
It was everything underneath it.
The way she looked at him before doing it—not flirty, not teasing.
Open.
Gentle.
Like she'd already decided he was worth the risk.
And Elena wasn't the kind of girl who did things halfway.
Not like this.
Not with someone like him.
That was the part that messed him up the most.
Not the kiss.
But that she meant it.
And that he knew it.
He put the car into gear, slowly pulled away from the curb, and let the soft purr of the engine settle his nerves. It helped. A little.
Driving always helped.
But tonight, the road didn't give him the distance he needed.
Because for once, the noise in his head wasn't something he wanted to quiet.
He kept replaying it.
Not just the kiss.
But the whole night.
How she laughed during the trailers.
How she snorted at the corny dialogue and apologized for it, even though he thought it was cute.
How she curled up in her seat just enough that her shoulder brushed his, and didn't move away.
She'd been present.
With him.
Fully.
And it scared him how much that meant.
By the time he parked behind the dorm, his hands had stopped trembling. Mostly.
Mateo's light was off. Probably out or asleep. Alexander didn't care.
He took the stairs slowly, two at a time, keycard in hand.
The hallway was dim, and his shoes barely made a sound on the tile.
Back in the room, he tossed his hoodie over the desk chair, flicked the light on low, and dropped onto the edge of his bed.
Stared at the floor.
Then grabbed his phone.
She hadn't texted him.
But it didn't matter.
He wasn't expecting her to.
That wasn't what tonight was.
He pulled up her name in his messages anyway.
Just to look.
Just to sit with the knowledge that something had shifted.
And not in the abstract, not in the maybe.
But in the real, grounded way that stuck with you long after the moment passed.
She kissed him.
Because she wanted to.
Not because she had to.
And that?
That was something rare.
Something dangerous.
Because it made him want things.
Things he'd never dared to let himself want before.
He stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.
Thought about typing something.
A thank you.
A "goodnight."
Something light and careful to fill the space.
But his fingers didn't move.
Instead, he just let it be.
Let the quiet hang.
Let the moment hold its shape without trying to bend it into something safer.
She kissed him.
And that was enough—for now.