I look back. It’s cold day. I’m hiding in the library. He walks in, there’s a little hello between us before he goes to check in his books and search out a new one. He sits opposite me.

He doesn’t love me. Yet.

I don’t love him. Yet.

It’s cosy, he brought me coffee. We read together for around an hour, occasionally the other asking what things mean or sharing bits we like.

His hand brushed against mine as we got up to leave, but we’re just friends, friends who understand each other, so it wasn’t awkward.

“I almost forgot, D and lot are meeting up tomorrow at the grill. 11 I think.” He says.

“See you there?”

“See you.”

Just like that, we part ways. We don’t love each other yet.