**One Month Later**
I've been sitting in my car outside Zeke's dorm building for ten minutes, trying to convince myself this isn't crazy.
It's a Friday night. I drove three hours from Savannah without telling him I was coming. My overnight bag is in the backseat, presumptuous and hopeful in equal measure.
We've been texting more. Calling sometimes. The conversations have been different, lighter, but also deeper. Less about filling silence and more about actually connecting. He tells me about his classes, his roommate who leaves dirty dishes everywhere, the architecture project that's consuming his life. I tell him about my studio time, the new series I'm working on, the way Savannah feels like home now.
But we haven't talked about *us*. Not really.
And I'm tired of not talking about u
