The days that followed their first meeting unfolded like pages in a fragile, beautiful story.
Klaus found himself seeking out Tulip — in the library, the coffee shop, or simply through long,
meandering messages late into the night. Their conversations moved beyond poetry and dreams to the
small details of everyday life — favorite songs, childhood memories, silly jokes.
Tulip's laughter became a balm to Klaus's bruised soul, her presence a light cutting through his lingering
shadows.
Yet, neither of them had much to spare. Klaus was still struggling with the fallout from his expulsion. His
parents' disappointment was a constant ache, and finding work to support himself drained what little
energy he had.
Tulip, despite her bright smile, carried her own burdens. Medical school demanded long hours, and her
past heartbreak made her cautious, sometimes pulling away when things felt too close.
Still, their time together was precious — a patchwork of simple moments: sharing cold pizza on rainy
nights, walking under streetlights, stolen glances filled with unspoken promises.
One evening, sitting side by side on a weathered park bench, Klaus reached for Tulip's hand. His fingers
trembled slightly.
"Are you scared?" she asked softly.
"Terrified," he admitted, "but with you… it feels like maybe I can be brave."
Tulip squeezed his hand. "Me too."
They leaned into each other, the world narrowing to just the warmth they shared.