After weeks of songs and late-night conversations, we finally sat side by side. What frightened me most wasn't how different it felt—but how familiar.

For weeks, we had hidden safely behind songs, messages, and late-night conversations. But as the elevator doors closed behind me, I realized there was no more distance left for words to hide behind.

What began with music became something harder to ignore. A question, a confession, and a Friday waiting just ahead.

He asked if he could see me. I didn’t stop him.

Some people ask permission to leave. Others ask permission to stay.

“I miss you,” he said. We had only known each other for days.

He said I wouldn't leave for good. I didn't correct him.

He came to hear the music. He left remembering his life. I was somewhere in between. He said, he wanted to be loved correctly. I listened longer than I should have.

We Talked Until the World Felt Smaller, And Somehow That Felt Like Everything.