Wallace didn’t just treat me well… he took care of me in ways I wasn’t used to, in ways that didn’t feel loud or excessive, but steady and intentional.
It started with small things.
One morning, I arrived at class earlier than usual, planning to review before the lecture. As I sat down, I noticed a familiar paper cup placed neatly on my desk.
Coffee. Still warm. I frowned slightly, looking around.
“You’re staring at it like it’s suspicious,” Wallace’s voice came from behind me.
I turned. “Did you leave this here?”
He shrugged, sliding into the seat beside me. “You said you had a late night.”
“I didn’t say I needed coffee.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I stared at him for a second before picking up the cup. “You’re assuming a lot.”
“And I’m usually right.”
I took a sip. He was.
Another
