Starry night

It was a glorious, colorful autumn. We’d just left the coffee shop. When we walked by, he had giggled and pulled me inside, saying, “C’mon, let’s be basic white girls and get some pumpkin spice!” I don’t like coffee. I never had. But when he handed me my cup and looked into my eyes while I tried it, it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. My hand still tingled when he grabbed it. As we walked through the park with our drinks, a light drizzle began to fall. He pulled out an umbrella from his bag, I pulled up my hood and hunched my shoulders. “Don’t be silly,” he giggled, pulling me under the umbrella with him. I couldn’t help but laugh too, his laugh was infectious. As the sun started to shine again, he pulled me down to sit on a bench. He beamed down at me, and I could only gaze back adoringly. “So Ava…” he began. I knew this tone of voice, it was dangerous. “Who do you like?” he whispered, and I looked away. I wanted to say, ‘you, you, a thousand times you. You’re the only one I can ever think about. You’re adorable and sweet and funny and…’ Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and looked down at my cup. He looked at me with a cautious smile. “If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?” “Okay.” I said. “The person I like… …is you.” I drop my drink.