His expression softened.
“You shouldn’t have to.”
The words landed somewhere deeper than I expected.
—
After dinner, Tristan walked me to the subway entrance.
The city moved around us.
Taxis.
People.
Lights.
Noise.
But somehow, the moment felt quiet.
“I had a good time,” I said.
“So did I.”
I smiled.
“Goodnight, Tristan.”
“Goodnight, Bianca.”
I started walking down the stairs.
Then I heard him say my name.
I turned.
He was standing beneath the streetlight, looking like someone who wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.
“Yes?”
A moment passed.
Then he simply smiled.
“Nothing.”
I smiled back.
“Good.”
But as I walked away, I wondered what he hadn’t said.
—
Three days later, I arrived at work to find an envelope sitting inside my locker.
No name.
No return address.
Just my name written across the front.
Bianca Carter.
I stared at it.
My first thought was that it was a mistake.
