They didn't speak much after class.
But some silences feel like a language of their own.
Not awkward. Not empty.
Just… settled.
They walked the corridor side by side, neither leading nor following, just matching steps. No brush of fingers. No accidental grazes. The world around them moved, but they weren't in it—not fully.
Not today.
She was still thinking about the way he'd looked at her when he walked in that morning. Like she'd been someone worth searching for.
He kept remembering the way she said "learning you."
He didn't know why that line stuck. Maybe because no one had ever said it like that before. Like he was something worth understanding slowly. Not a mystery to be solved—but a person to grow into.
She stopped near the vending machine, glanced at him. "Want anything?"
He shook his head, his voice softer than usual. "I'm good."
She nodded, but didn't press the button. Didn't buy anything. Just stood there with him. Both of them oddly content in doing… nothing.
There was something incredibly calming about this version of them.
Like they were figuring out how to just exist in the same space—no jokes, no flirting, no metaphors—just being.
And that in itself, felt intimate.