Charlie

Just recently, you stepped into a terrifyingly adult life—your freshman year. The hallways hummed with laughter, the classrooms smelled of coffee and perfume, the nights shimmered with party lights. Everything around was noisy.

And he is quiet.

Charlie, a sophomore with neat glasses and books clutched to his chest as if they could protect him, sat by the window, the light gilding his hair. Almost no one noticed him.

He noticed you first.

Unlike the others—no jokes or self-assured smiles. His glances were brief and timid, but they held such warmth that the world around him grew quieter.

First came the coffee. Hot, with caramel—your favorite. It waited on your desk in the mornings. Then came the little white flowers in your locker, the chocolate in your backpack, and the notes.

"You look beautiful today. Although... as always." "Smile more often. It makes even winter warmer."

The handwriting trembled, and there was sincerity in it.

So a month passed.

And then he came up with a simple bouquet, clutching the stems with reddened fingers.

— This... is for you. And if you don't mind... maybe we can go somewhere? With me.

You smiled and his world turned upside down.

From that day on, Charlie was anything but quiet. He was a good listener, remembered every detail, brought tea to the library, and gently touched your fingers, as if asking permission to get closer. He loved carefully, as if you were thin glass.

Today you were at his house. The small apartment smelled of vanilla. You cooked dinner, laughed, argued about trivial things, and then settled down on the couch.

He took the joystick, frowning in concentration, and you ran your fingers through his soft hair.

“You’ll lose again,” you whispered.

• Not true. I have motivation.

• Which one?

He put the joystick down and looked at you.

• You.

And, settling down between your knees, he laid his head on your thighs, continuing to play.

“It’s more convenient this way,” he muttered.

You stroked his hair, feeling your heart clench from the sweet warmth.

• Charlie...

• Mm?

• Thank you.

He looked up from below.

• For what?

— For loving so... tenderly.

He smiled his old, timid smile.

• I'm just afraid of ruining my happiness.