The bell rang at exactly 8:15 a.m., sharp and unforgiving, slicing through the hallway noise like it always did. Issa flinched slightly as she adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. The hallway of Westbridge High was crowded, loud with lockers slamming and conversations overlapping, but her eyes searched for only one thing.
Max.
She spotted him near the water fountain, laughing with two of his friends, his head thrown back like the world had never given him a reason to look down. He wore his hoodie half-zipped, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Issa noticed that detail every time, even though she pretended not to.
"Issa!" a voice called.
She turned just in time to see Max breaking away from his friends and walking toward her. Her heart did that familiar, traitorous thing—beating faster for someone who didn't even know he owned it.
"Hey," she said, smiling automatically.
"You ready for the history quiz?" he asked, falling into step beside her as they walked toward class.
Issa shrugged. "As ready as I'll ever be. You?"
He groaned. "I barely studied. If I fail, I'm blaming you for distracting me yesterday."
She laughed softly. "You were the one talking."
"True," he said, grinning. "But you didn't stop me."
She never did.
History class was arranged alphabetically, which meant Issa sat behind Max. She liked to pretend that didn't matter, that it didn't mean anything when she stared at the back of his head while pretending to take notes. She liked to pretend she wasn't memorizing the way his shoulders moved when he laughed quietly at something the teacher said.
Halfway through the quiz, Max turned around slightly and whispered, "What year did that battle happen?"
Issa hesitated. She wasn't supposed to help. But then she saw the hopeful look in his eyes—the way he always looked at her when he needed something.
She mouthed the answer.
"Lifesaver," he whispered.
The word stayed with her long after the bell rang.
They walked to lunch together, like they always did. It wasn't official or planned; it just happened naturally, as if the universe had decided they belonged in the same spaces.
"So," Max said, poking at his fries, "I think I might ask her out."
Issa's fingers tightened around her water bottle.
"Her?" she asked carefully.
"Yeah. Emily. From chem."
"Oh," Issa said. The word came out smaller than she intended. "She seems… nice."
"She is," Max said, smiling in a way Issa had never seen directed at her. "I don't know. I just feel different around her."
Issa nodded, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral. "You should go for it."
"Really?" he asked. "You think so?"
She met his eyes and smiled, even though something inside her ached. "Yeah. I think you deserve to be happy."
He bumped her shoulder playfully. "You're the best, Issa. Seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you."
She swallowed.
Neither did she.
That afternoon, Issa sat on her bed with her notebook open, pen hovering uselessly above the page. Her room was quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan. This was the part of the day where she allowed herself to be honest.
She wrote:
Max,
I wonder if you know how easy it is for you to break me without trying. I sit next to you every day, hear your dreams, your fears, your almosts—and I love you in the spaces where you don't look.
Her handwriting grew messier as the words poured out.
Loving you feels like being your safe place while never being your destination.
She paused, rereading the sentence until her vision blurred.
Issa closed the notebook slowly and pressed it to her chest. Tomorrow, she would smile again. Tomorrow, she would listen to him talk about Emily. Tomorrow, she would be okay.
Because loving Max quietly had become a habit.
And habits, she had learned, were hard to break.