Cole:
My palms were sweating.
I checked the time for what had to be the hundredth time, the second hand ticking louder than it should. My foot tapped out a nervous rhythm against the floor as I stood outside Juliette’s dorm room, shifting from one foot to the other like some jittery kid.
It was just a dance. Just a girl.
Right?
Except it wasn’t. It was Juliette.
The girl who haunted my thoughts, who made my chest ache when she smiled, who laughed like I was actually worth something. She wasn’t just a girl. She was the girl. My girl.
I raised my hand to knock—hesitated—then finally did it before I lost my nerve.
The door opened a second later, and whatever air was left in my lungs vanished.
She was smiling—wide, bright, the kind of smile that made everything in the room feel warm.
