The notebook didn't return to the desk.
It stayed with Amira now—no longer a secret passed under tables, but something more personal. More precious.
Jayden didn't need to write anymore. Not because the words had stopped, but because they no longer needed paper to speak.
They found each other in hallways now.
In glances that lingered. In shoulders that brushed. In smiles that carried full paragraphs.
Still… there was one thing they hadn't said.
One tiny, five-letter truth hovering in the air between them:
Her name.
He'd never said it aloud.
And though she knew his, there was something sacred about holding her name back—like once it left her lips in front of him, this would all be real. No longer a dream tucked in paper.
---
Friday. After school.
They sat under the tree behind the library, the sun brushing against them like warmth had always known where to land.
Jayden turned to her, their knees almost touching.
"Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice lower than usual.
She looked at him, eyes soft. "You just did."
He smirked. "Okay. Can I ask you two things?"
"Go on."
He hesitated. And then, he whispered, "Will you tell me your name?"
She blinked, surprised. Then smiled slowly.
"You don't know it yet?"
"I do. But I've never heard it from you. I want to."
She looked down, fingers playing with the hem of her sleeve.
And then, softly…
Like letting a secret fall from her lips…
"Amira."
He said it back like a prayer. "Amira."
It sounded different when he said it.
Like something cherished.
Like something his heart had been waiting to call home.
"I like your name," he said.
"Do you like me, though?"
He leaned closer, just enough that she could feel the answer before he spoke it.
"I think I'm in love with the girl who wrote me letters and made me believe in things I never said out loud."
Her breath caught.
And this time, when he leaned in…
She didn't stop him.
Their kiss was soft. Just one.
But it said everything.