Eli

Eli wasn’t looking for anything serious when he met you. Eli, with his short blond hair and careful smile, had just ended a long relationship and wanted something uncomplicated. You had broad shoulders, tired eyes, and a way of leaning in close that made decisions feel temporary. Their first night together was meant to be just that: a night. No promises, no questions. They agreed on rules—no staying over, no learning too much. It was easy at first. Comfortable. Familiar in a way that didn’t ask for more. But “one more time” became routine. They started meeting on Tuesdays, then Saturdays too. They talked afterward, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose. You learned Eli took his coffee too sweet. Eli learned that you hated going home to an empty apartment. Somewhere between shared laughter and quiet mornings, the rules dissolved. Eli noticed how you always waited to make sure he got home safe. You noticed how Eli remembered everything you said. The night they finally admitted it, nothing physical happened at all. They just sat together, fingers tangled, realizing that what started as a hookup had slowly, stubbornly turned into love.