The closing fondness 

The days that followed were filled with something Sophia had never really experienced before — Daniel Harper's full attention.

Not the distracted, off-and-on kind.

Not the "I'm just checking in" kind.

But the kind that made her feel like she was the only person in the room — even when she wasn't.

He called her every day.

Sometimes in the morning, just before work.

Sometimes late at night, when the city was quiet and the stars were out.

He sent her texts with jokes, study tips, and the occasional "You okay?" that made her heart race for reasons she couldn't explain.

And he invited her out — for lunch, for coffee, for dinner.

Every chance he got.

He never missed one.

It was on one of those nights — a Friday, soft and warm, with the kind of breeze that made you believe in magic — that everything shifted.

Daniel had picked her up from campus in his black sedan, smiling as he leaned out the window.

"Ready for dinner?"

She had nodded, climbing in.

He had taken her to a small Italian restaurant tucked between two bookshops — La Luna, a place that smelled like basil and garlic, and where the lighting was dim enough to feel intimate, but not so dim that she could hide her blushing.

She had worn a simple black dress — nothing fancy, but something that made her feel more like herself.

He had noticed.

"You look good," he said, before catching himself. "I mean… not that you don't usually."

She smirked. "You're trying really hard tonight."

He chuckled. "I always try hard when it comes to you."

She looked at him — really looked — and realized something.

He wasn't teasing her.

He wasn't ruffling her hair.

He was being serious.

And it made her chest hurt in the best way possible.

They talked over dinner — about everything and nothing.

About school.

About his work.

About the way the city changed with the seasons.

And then, out of nowhere, he asked, "Do you remember the first time we met?"

She blinked. "You mean when I was twelve and you won that race?"

He grinned. "Yeah. That day."

She smiled faintly. "I thought you were perfect."

He tilted his head. "And now?"

She met his eyes.

"Now I know you're not," she said softly. "But you're still my favorite person."

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

Then he reached across the table and took her hand.

She didn't pull away.

She just let him hold it — like it was something he had always been allowed to do.

After dinner, they walked.

The streets were alive with people — students heading to late-night events, couples laughing under the streetlights, music drifting from open windows.

She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck, the night air cooling the heat in her cheeks.

"You didn't have to do this," she said after a while.

He looked at her. "Do what?"

"All of it," she whispered. "The calls. The dinners. The way you look at me now."

Daniel slowed his steps.

Then said, "I've been looking at you wrong for years."

She turned toward him.

He continued, "I saw you as Nathan's sister. As the quiet girl who followed me around. As the kid I had to protect."

He exhaled.

"But I finally see you now."

She swallowed hard. "What do you see?"

He smiled — soft, real.

"I see a woman who's kind. Who's strong. Who's still watching me like I'm her hero."

She blushed.

He added, "And I see the girl who loved me before I even knew her name."

Her heart skipped.

He looked at her — really looked — and said, "I think I've been in love with you longer than I want to admit."

She didn't speak.

She couldn't.

Because the words she had waited for — the ones she had never thought she'd hear — had finally been said.

Out loud.

To her.

By him.

Back at the dorm, he walked her to the steps.

She paused before going inside.

"I thought I had lost you," she said quietly.

Daniel looked at her — soft, serious.

"You never lost me," he said. "You just didn't know I was yours to begin with."

She bit her lip.

Then whispered, "I've loved you since I was twelve."

He smiled. "I think I've loved you longer than I realized."

She looked at him.

And for the first time in weeks, she laughed.

Light.

Warm.

Real.

And Daniel?

He stayed there for a moment, watching her.

Because this was the girl he had spent years ignoring — not because he didn't care.

But because he had been afraid of how much he did care.

Now, he wasn't afraid anymore.