Page 161 of Before We Were

"Hey, you okay?" I ask when the silence stretches too thin.

"Yeah," she whispers, still fixed on the passing landscape.

"You sure?"

She hesitates, then turns to me with a question burning in her eyes. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course." I keep one hand steady on the wheel, the other gripping the gearshift like an anchor.

She takes a deep breath that seems to pull all the oxygen from the car. "Did you ever think about me? Over the past year, I mean. When we went all those months without speaking. Did you ever…"

Her voice trails off as she fidgets with her bracelet—a nervous habit I've watched her perfect since we were kids.

"You know what, forget about it," she backtracks. "It's stupid and??—"

"Why?" I cut in, keeping my voice carefully neutral even as my pulse thunders.

She frowns. "Why what?"

"Why would you think it's stupid to ask?" I focus on the road ahead, but my mind replays every moment I spent trying to forget her and failing spectacularly. Just like I'm failing at this whole 'just friends' charade I foolishly thought I could maintain.

The silence thickens until it feels like we're swimming in it. She draws a shaky breath, and when she speaks, her voice carries a vulnerability that breaks something in me. "Maybe it's just… being back here with you. The other night, it made me forget about everything else that's happened—all the time we spent apart. I… never mind. Ignore me. I don't know what I'm trying to say."

Her words hang between us like suspended stars, and I grip the wheel tighter, trying to anchor myself to something solid. The confined space of the car suddenly feels electric, charged with everything we've left unsaid. She's close enough to touch, yet the distance we've carefully constructed feels like an ocean.

"There wasn't a day that went by I didn't, Leni." The confession falls from my lips before I can stop it, honest and raw.

She freezes beside me, and when I risk a glance, the look in her eyes threatens to unravel every carefully constructed wall I've built.

"Maybe we tried to forget for a reason," she whispers, but her voice wavers with uncertainty.

"Maybe," I reply, swallowing hard against the truth trying to claw its way out of my chest.

But we both know we never really tried.

The air thrums with anticipation—atangible energy that matches the rapid beating of my heart. String lights crisscross above us like fallen stars, casting warm shadows that dance across Nora's face. The scent of summer surrounds us: sunscreen, carnival sweets, and that indefinable electricity that comes before something momentous.

"Come on." I reach for her hand, and the moment our fingers intertwine, everything shifts into focus. "We can get closer."

She follows without hesitation as I guide her through the crowd. Bodies move around us like waves, the bass reverberating through the ground and into our bones. The setting sun bleeds across the sky in watercolor strokes of amber and crimson, turning the world golden.

We find our spot near the center, where the energy of the crowd feels most alive. The fading sunlight catches her features, highlighting details I've spent years trying not to memorize—the constellation of freckles across her nose, the flecks of gold in her green eyes, the way her lips curve just slightly upward even when she's lost in thought.

The band starts playing, and she moves with an effortless grace that makes my throat tight. Her body sways to the rhythm, completely lost in the music, free in a way that makes me envious and captivated all at once. She throws her head back, laughing at something, and the sound cuts through the noise straight to my core.

I tell myself to focus on the music, to let it drown out the constant awareness of her presence. Instead, I catalog every detail: how she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's concentrating, the way her shoulder brushes against mine with each movement, how her scent—something fresh and uniquely her—mingles with the summer air.

What the fuck am I doing?

I shouldn't have brought her here, shouldn't have created this moment where everything feels possible and impossible all at once. But when she turns to me, eyes bright with excitement, I can't regret it.

She leans close, her breath warm against my ear. "This is amazing!"

I manage a smile, hoping she can't see how she affects me. "Yeah, it is."

Even surrounded by thousands, she's the only person who feels real.

The band plays on, each song weaving through the crowd like electricity. When they announce their final song—“Hear You Me”—my heart stutters.

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