Moving on wasn't supposed to feel this... peaceful.
For as long as I could remember, love had always been equated with a chaotic, suffocating weight. It was supposed to be a series of midnight panic attacks, hidden glances in dark corridors, and a constant, aching fear of breaking an unspoken rulebook. But as the crisp October wind rustled the golden leaves outside the lecture hall windows, I was starting to realize that maybe I had the whole definition completely wrong.
"Double-shot iced caramel macchiato with extra oat milk," a cheerful, familiar voice murmured, sliding a sweating plastic cup onto my wooden desk.
I blinked, breaking out of my thoughts as Ethan slid into the lecture seat right next to mine. He was wearing his navy Maplewood track jacket, his blonde curls slightly messy
