The glow of victory still lingered long after the boys' semi-final.
Everywhere we went, whispers of their names echoed in the streets.
La Crox had found a reason to believe again, and somehow, in the center of it all, I found myself believing too.
Rachelle and I had grown inseparable in those days.
At work, it was seamless, she with her sketches, me with the drills, both of us shaping something larger than ourselves.
But outside the center, it was quieter, more fragile, as though the world wasn't supposed to notice what was happening.
One evening, she suggested dinner again, this time at a rooftop café overlooking the city.
The place was modest but very well furnished, polished wooden tables, cushioned chairs that carried the weight of comfort, and soft golden lights strung across the beams like captured stars.
It wasn't luxury, but it felt thoughtful, deliberate, a place made for conversation.
We talked for hours, the night wind carrying her laughter, her stories, her dreams.
"I used to imagine this," she admitted, tracing the rim of her glass. "Not this exact moment, but… sharing something simple with someone who sees me. Really sees me."
Her words cut through me.
For years, I had been unseen, existing in the shadows of what I had lost.
But with her, I felt visible again, every flaw, every scar, every hidden part of me reflected back without judgment.
At some point, silence fell, but it wasn't the heavy kind.
It was charged, humming, the air trembling with what neither of us had the courage to name.
She looked at me, eyes searching, waiting.
I don't remember leaning in, only the sudden closeness, the warmth of her lips meeting mine.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't hesitant.
It was the kind of kiss that unraveled years of restraint, the kind that told me this us was real.
When we pulled apart, she smiled shyly, as if surprised by her own boldness.
"Guess we finally said it without words."
I laughed softly, though my chest ached with something bigger than joy.
"Yeah," I whispered. "We did."
The rest of the evening blurred, but one thing was certain: the spark between us had caught fire, and for the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid of being burned.