Page 64 of The Valentine Agenda

"Because it matters to someone," Hannah whispered.

"Becauseyoumatter to someone," Mrs. Chen corrected gently.

Hannah pressed a hand to her chest, where something that felt dangerously like hope was blooming. "I think..." She swallowed hard. "I think I could love him. If I let myself.”

"Of course you could, dear." Mrs. Chen's smile was soft. "He's showing you who he is. Every day. In all the small ways that matter."

Hannah looked around the room—at all the carefully chosen details, at all the evidence of someone paying attention, really paying attention, to what mattered to her. To what would make her students feel valued. To what would make the elderly residents feel comfortable.

Hannah's eyes burned slightly. Because this—this quiet attention to detail, this careful consideration of others' needs—this was exactly what she'd always seen in James. Even when everyone else saw only his perfect suits and calculated charm.

She'd seen this version of him waiting to emerge.

"Tomorrow," she said, "when the children come..."

"He'll be there," Mrs. Chen finished. "He'll be there for you. Because that's who he is now."

Hannah touched the nearest display board again, feeling its smooth perfection under her fingers. Feeling all the thought and care that had gone into its selection.

Mrs. Chen just smiled, like she'd known all along. Maybe she had.

After all, some things were written in careful details rather than grand declarations.

And Hannah was finally learning to read them properly.

------------------

"Everyone?" Hannah's voice carried across the room, steady despite her racing heart. "If I could have your attention for a moment?"

The murmur of conversation faded. Her students turned toward her with bright eyes—Tommy practically bouncing as he stood next to his grandfather, Sarah carefully holding Mrs. Peterson's hand. But Hannah wasn't seeing their faces.

She was searching for him.

And there he was.

James stood in the doorway, half-hidden in shadow. His fingers curled against the doorframe.

"When we started this art program," she began, her voice soft but carrying, "I thought it was about teaching children to express themselves. But it's become something more." She wet her lips, heart thundering. "It's about truly seeing each other."

Her eyes found James again, willing him to understand that these words weren't for her students or the residents. They were for him. Only for him.

"It's about noticing the things most people miss," she continued, each word chosen with careful precision. "Likehow Mrs. Peterson's arthritis flares in the cold, or how Mr. Thompson prefers his crossword puzzles in large print."

James went utterly still.

Most wouldn't have noticed the change—the slight catch in his breath, the way his jaw tightened—but Hannah did. Because she had learned to read him like he had learned to read everyone else.

"Some people look without seeing," she pressed on, voice trembling slightly. "They walk through life focused on the big picture, missing all the small details that make it beautiful."

James's grip on the doorframe tightened, and something in Hannah's chest squeezed painfully.

"But others..." She swallowed hard, remembering every quiet gesture, every anticipated need, every moment he had tried to make her world better without asking for recognition. "Others see you. Theynoticeyou."

Something in James fractured.

She saw it happen—saw the moment her words hit him like physical blows. His eyes darkened with an emotion so raw it stole her breath. For a heartbeat, she thought he might step forward.

Instead, he began to pull away.

---