"Young love tends to be based on nothing but feelings. The couple has not yet faced and overcome a challenge or difficulty together. They are passionate about each other. They think about each other constantly and want to spend all their time"
Isaac...
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I'd made it back home after the dance with Angie. It was fine... until it wasn't.
I really liked her. And I'm pretty sure — no, I know — she confessed to liking me too. But, like an idiot, I screwed it up. Like I always do. I wanted to go after her, just like I planned before the dance, to finally be brave, to finally stop wasting time. But I didn't. Not then.
It had taken everything in me to even show up at that stupid dance. The entire time I got ready, all I could think about was what would happen, how I'd probably choke like always. And yeah... I kind of did. But I still danced with her. And, God, it was probably one of the best things that's ever happened to me.
Then Tyler had to ruin it. And worse — I blamed her for it. I was a total asshole. She could've said something back, sure, but she didn't deserve the things I said.
She was going through so much already, and she still thought of me. She asked me to the dance. She climbed through my damn window, picked a dress for me, made me feel like... like I mattered. I couldn't believe it. Angie liked me.
And what did I do? Nothing.
If it hadn't gone to hell, maybe I would've made a move. Maybe I still could.
I told myself it sounded easy — just wait for her to get home, go to her room, say what I needed to say, maybe even kiss her. Simple. Right? But I knew better. Standing in front of her would be a different story. Still, I wanted to believe I could do it.
So that's what I did.
I waited at my window, watching her house across the street like some lovesick idiot. It took a while, but eventually, her porch light flicked on. A Jeep pulled up — Stiles. Of course. No idea what she was doing with him, but maybe she didn't have a ride. That's all it was.
She was holding the flowers I gave her.
I didn't expect that. I figured she'd toss them somewhere, leave them behind after everything. But she didn't. She kept them. Cared enough to hold onto them.
Minutes later, her bedroom light turned on. I gave her a minute — she probably wanted to change, to calm down. Meanwhile, my heart was practically punching through my chest. I hadn't even fully processed what I was going to do until I was already standing outside her window.
I was actually going to kiss her.
If someone told me months ago that this would be my life, I'd have laughed in their face. I couldn't even get close to Angie back then. Now? Here I was.
I was terrified. Genuinely, stomach-churning, hand-shaking terrified. Every instinct screamed for me to turn around, crawl back into my room, and forget it. But somehow, I made my hand knock on her window.
