They moved in a slow, unpracticed circle. Around them, the party was a blur of motion and noise, but in the pocket of their embrace, it was quiet. Leo looked at her—really looked at her—and saw the history they shared written in the corners of her eyes. He saw the summers at the lake, the quiet study nights, and the way she always knew exactly how he took his coffee before he even asked.

Maya was "perfect" in the way only someone you’ve known since childhood can be. She wasn't a stranger he’d met at a party; she was the girl who used to climb the oak tree in his backyard, now transformed into a woman in a midnight-blue dress.

"We still are," he said, pulling her a little closer. "We were just kids when we fell in love, not knowing what it was."