It's strange how one email can keep your whole world on pause.
Sophie was waiting for her scholarship results, and the silence was driving her mad.
And while that silence loomed, something else started to stir… James.
And no, I don't mean stir like "he said hi" or "he smiled."
I mean really stir.
For three days, Sophie checked her inbox every thirty minutes.
I caught her refreshing her email while brushing her teeth.
At lunch. During lectures. Once even during a fire drill.
"Still nothing," she said, slumping beside me on her bed.
"You'll get it. I feel it," I told her.
"I don't want to get my hopes up."
"Too late," I smiled. "You already told the entire art department you were shortlisted."
She threw a pillow at me. "You're not helpful."
But we both laughed, and she relaxed for a second.
Only to grab her phone again two minutes later.
James had been around a lot lately.
Not in the group way, but in the "suddenly showing up with two coffees and no explanation" way.
Or the "waiting for me outside my lecture hall" way.
And yesterday… he did the unexpected.
He gave me a book.
Not just any book—a first edition of The Silent Observer, a novel I had gushed about once in passing.
I looked up at him, stunned.
"You remembered?"
He shrugged, a half-smile playing on his lips. "I listen. Sometimes."
Something about the way he looked at me—so soft, so still—sent heat rushing to my face.
And when his fingers brushed mine as he handed it over…
I swear I forgot how to breathe.
The next day, Sophie leaned across the table during dinner, narrowing her eyes at me.
"So… James."
"What about him?" I asked, very not casually.
"He's giving you That Look™."
"What look?" I blinked too fast.
"The one guys give in teen movies right before they confess their feelings. Do not play dumb."
I tried to dismiss it, but I couldn't help smiling.
I mean… was he really?
I remembered how he had pulled out the chair for me earlier.
How his eyes lingered when I laughed.
How he didn't rush when I talked, like he genuinely enjoyed being around me.
"He's acting weird," I said.
"Weird?" Sophie laughed. "Honey, he's flirting."
That night, just as I was drifting off, Sophie screamed.
I bolted upright.
She was glowing. Literally glowing in the phone screen's light.
"I GOT IT!"
"What!?"
"I GOT THE SCHOLARSHIP!"
I leapt off my bed, and we hugged, jumping up and down in pajamas, shrieking like kids.
"You're going to New York!" I cried.
"I'm going to New York!"
We danced. We cried. We celebrated with leftover brownies and apple juice at 1 a.m.
And just before we fell asleep, Sophie mumbled drowsily:
"You know he really likes you, right?"
I smiled in the dark.
"I hope he does."
It felt like the pieces were finally falling into place.
Sophie was soaring, and James… James was becoming something more than a chapter in my life.
He might just be a story of his own.
But I wasn't going to rush it.
Not this time.