Oliver

You grew up next to them, and everyone knew your childish gaze was invariably drawn to Oliver—the older one, the loud, the talented, but completely oblivious to the quiet girl through the wall. The years passed, you grew up, and life seemed to push you to forget that first crush. That's how Max, his younger brother, entered your story: calm, attentive, completely different.

He took a long time to gather his courage and, having pulled himself together, one day said: — I want you to meet my parents.

Dinner was surprisingly warm. Mom asked about school, Dad joked, Max smiled at you as if he were afraid to look away. But the silence was suddenly shattered by a noise in the hallway. Oliver practically burst into the room, kissing two girls at once, loud and confident as always.

Mom flared up:

• Oliver! Can you even come in normally for once?

Max merely pressed his lips together and gave his brother a stern look. You watched, the hurt pricking you. Oliver tore himself away from his companions, looked up, and looked at you first. His gaze was brief, but there was a flicker of recognition. You looked away, and he chuckled.

• Well, I chose the moment.