Mid Size For The Billionaire

5- Adia

"I had a huge crush on you, too."

His words hit me like a jolt of electricity, and for a moment, it felt as if my heart had stopped. I could only stare at him, utterly dumbfounded, as my mind tried to process what he had just confessed. Self-doubt instantly reared its head, gnawing away at my confidence. Why on earth would he have liked me back then? In fact, why had he even asked me on a date now?

None of it made sense. I was tangled in a web of my own insecurities. Here I was, sitting across from the man of my dreams, and instead of basking in the moment, I was questioning his intentions. I needed to escape the spiral of overthinking and accept things for what they were. He asked me out, didn't he? That had to mean something.

"Are you okay?" His voice was gentle, full of concern.

I forced a smile, though it didn't come easy. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to understand what could've made you like me back then... and why you'd want to go on a date with me now."

He met my eyes, his expression sincere. "First of all, this date wasn't a bother. I wanted to go out with you. And second, how could I not have had a crush on you? You're beautiful."

"So, you liked me because I was pretty?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. I couldn't help but compare myself to the other girls from school—girls who were thinner, more traditionally attractive. What made me stand out?

"You weren't just pretty, Adia. You're a beautiful person."

"There were other girls who were just as beautiful—maybe even more so," I muttered, berating myself internally. Why was I saying these things? I really needed to stop.

He took a deep breath, clearly gathering his thoughts. "To me, they were just pretty. That's all they had going for them. They didn't care about school, their friends, or even just being kind to others. But you—you cared. I remember seeing you stay late after school to tutor guys in our grade, even though it meant you struggled to find a ride home. I heard about you starting that petition to replace your teacher because he wasn't teaching the class properly, even though it ended up with you taking over half the lessons. You may not realize it, but that kind of kindness? It's incredibly attractive."

I blinked, stunned. "I had no idea people even noticed those things." Of course, everything he mentioned was true, but at the time, they hadn't seemed like such big deals. They were just things that needed to be done because no one else was stepping up. Hearing him list them now, as if they were remarkable, was... overwhelming.

He hesitated for a moment before continuing. "That's not all."

I leaned in, curious. "What do you mean?"

He exhaled slowly, avoiding my gaze. "I noticed you before you started doing all those things. I don't know what it was, but I felt drawn to you—like a moth to a flame. But I never approached you because I was afraid... afraid that, as the moth, I'd get burned."

I gaped at him. "You thought I'd reject you?"

He shrugged. "You didn't seem to return any of my affection back then, so I wasn't sure."

"But you never showed me your affection," I countered, confused.

He smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. "I did. You just never noticed. I'd wave at you, but you wouldn't wave back. Whenever I tried to talk to you, you'd either run away or someone would interrupt us. Even during the group project we had, you barely spoke to me. It always felt like you didn't even see me."

I laughed nervously. "That sounds a bit obsessive, don't you think?"

He chuckled softly. "I thought the same thing when I saw you yesterday. I was obsessed with you back then, but you never seemed to notice."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "I didn't wave back because I never thought you were actually waving at me. You're you, and I'm just... me. It never seemed possible."

He nodded thoughtfully. "But you never tried to talk to me, either. Why?"

"If the most popular guy in school tried talking to you, wouldn't you freak out a little?" I asked, half-joking, though the vulnerability was clear in my voice.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression turning playful. "I was trying to talk to the hottest girl in school," he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

That got me. My cheeks flushed crimson. "Oh," I whispered, completely flustered.

"I would've spoken to you more during our group project if Betty hadn't insisted on taking over as the leader. Her... let's just call it a sense of entitlement, was on full display, and I didn't feel like dealing with it."

"That makes sense," I agreed.

"If I had even the slightest clue that you were interested in me, I wouldn't have avoided you."

My words struck a chord, and he tilted his head, intrigued. "Would you really have talked to me?"

I cracked in less than a second. "No, it would terrify me."

His brow furrowed, his gaze searching mine. "Why would that scare you?"

I looked away, my fingers fidgeting in my lap. The strange surge of confidence I'd felt moments ago was quickly unraveling, thread by thread, with every question he asked. Now, I felt that familiar wave of nerves crashing over me again.

"Please, tell me," he urged gently, his voice soft, almost pleading.

I hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "It scared me because..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Because I wasn't sure I liked myself back then, and I couldn't see why you would, either."

His expression softened, concern etched into his features. "Do you still feel that way now?"

I considered his question, letting the silence stretch between us. Did I still feel that way? I'd grown more confident in my abilities, in my value. But when it came to my appearance, my weight, the reasons someone might want to be with me... I guess I was still wrestling with those old doubts, still questioning my worth in that sense.

"I... I'm not sure," I finally admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. "Do you like me?"

A simple question, yet it carried so much weight. "I like what I know so far."

"Do you believe I like you?"

The knot in my chest tightened. "I don't know."

"Is there anything I can do to prove it to you?"

I could only shrug, feeling helpless in my uncertainty. How could I explain the compAdity of my insecurities? I wasn't even sure what it would take for me to believe in myself, to stop doubting everything.

Suddenly, his arm slid around my waist, pulling me gently toward him. His eyes never wavered from mine, and I could feel the intensity of his unspoken desire. He wanted to kiss me—I could see it in the way his gaze softened, the way he leaned in closer. His lips hovered just a breath away from mine.

But as his closeness grew, so did the panic rising within me. I froze, caught in the whirlpool of my own anxieties. Should I let him kiss me? Should I pull away?

In the end, my insecurities won. I jerked back, stumbling to my feet as though I'd been burned. "I have to go," I muttered, ignoring his concerned protests as I snatched my purse and keys.

I raced out of his house and into the cool night air, my heart pounding in my chest. As I glanced back over my shoulder, a sinking feeling settled deep in my gut. He wasn't following me.

If he really liked me, wouldn't he have tried to stop me?

That bitter thought played over and over in my mind as I sped away from his driveway, my foot pressing harder on the gas pedal, as if I could somehow outrun my own self-doubt.