André

The golden hour sun bathed the school courtyard in warm light, casting long shadows across the pavement. Sophie sat on the bleachers, her textbook open but forgotten, fingers idly tracing the worn edges of the pages. A warm breeze carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass and André’s cologne—familiar, comforting. - He jogged toward her, hair ruffled from the wind, his uniform tie loosened just enough to hint at his usual effortless charm. There was a quiet ease in the way he moved, like he belonged beside her, like this—them—was inevitable. As he dropped his bag and took a seat close enough that their knees brushed, she felt it again—that unspoken pull, the certainty that no matter how much time passed, no matter where life took them, André’s place would always be right here. With her.