Something like falling

Sam lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her fingers curled loosely over her chest as if trying to hold in the memory of the night. Her mind played the kiss on a loop, each rewind making her heart pound again. She could still feel Liam’s breath mixing with hers, the surprising softness of his lips, the way he had leaned into her like he meant every second. The way she had leaned in first.
She groaned softly, burying her face in the pillow for a second before rolling onto her back again. Why had she done that? Why had she been so quick, so eager? She’d practically leapt into the moment. That wasn’t her. She was the girl who measured everything out, who kept her feelings tucked away like fragile glass. But tonight, all of that had unraveled. 
And now? Now she was lying here, heart thumping in the dark like a teenager.
Her cheeks burned just thinking about it. Reprimanding herself wasn’t helping, but it was hard to stop the flood of overthinking. Did she come off as desperate? What if she had misread the whole thing and Liam had just gone along with it to be nice?
But then—he had texted her.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, as if summoned by her thoughts. She glanced over, half-expecting it to be some random notification, but it was him.
Goodnight, Sam. Hope you’re resting well. I’m already looking forward to seeing you again.
Her chest gave a little jump.
It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a simple message. But something about it felt steady, reassuring. Not overdone. Not vague either. She picked up her phone, reread the message twice, then slowly typed a reply.
Goodnight, Liam. Then she paused. Just that felt too clipped. She added, Thanks for tonight. It was... really nice.
She hesitated before hitting send. The cursor blinked like it was teasing her.
She hit send anyway.
Then she tossed the phone onto the pillow next to her and closed her eyes, exhaling through a smile she didn’t know she still had on her face.
“Where’ve you been?”
The voice startled her. Sam turned to see James standing in the doorway, his hair sticking up like he’d been tossing and turning. He wore one of his oversized camp T-shirts, his eyes still adjusting to the hallway light behind him.
“Geez, you scared me,” Sam said, sitting up.
"Scared you? You sent me a cryptic text saying you'd be late—no details, no emoji, not even a ‘don’t panic.’ I thought maybe you got recruited by some underground waitress cult."
She laughed, pulling the blanket up around her legs. “No cults tonight. Just... out.”
James gave her a look. “Out?”
“Out.”
He squinted at her, then grinned. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
He pointed at her. “The ‘I’m not telling you but I’m totally thinking about someone’ look.”
Sam smirked, burying her face halfway into her pillow in mock offense.
James walked farther into the room and flopped onto the edge of her bed with a dramatic sigh. “So... mystery outing. You gonna tell me where you went—and with who?”
She shrugged, aiming for casual. “I told you, Just out.”
He tilted his head. “Out where? You’re not exactly the spontaneous type.”
Sam avoided his eyes, tracing the hem of her blanket. “Nowhere special.”
James gave her a suspicious look, but there was no edge to it. “Well, wherever you were, you’re smiling like you just got handed a winning lottery ticket and a year’s supply of pancakes.”
Sam laughed, shaking her head. “It’s not like that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not. But you’ve got a shine, Sam. Haven’t seen that in a while. Not since... well, not for a while.”
Her smile faded just a little, softening into something more thoughtful. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
James stood up, stretching. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your secrets. Just don’t keep them forever.”
Alone again, she laid back down, the quiet settling in like a blanket. She reached for her phone, checking to see if Liam had responded.
He had.
Sweet dreams.
Two words. Simple. But it made her stomach flip all over again.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, her thoughts drifted with a sense of peace. Not certainty—but peace. There was still so much she didn’t know. She didn’t know if Liam’s feelings ran as deep as hers already threatened to. She didn’t know what tomorrow would look like, or whether this connection was the beginning of something real or just a passing spark.
But even in the haze of confusion, she felt something small bloom inside her. Hope. Not loud or overwhelming—just a quiet hum under her ribs.
——
The next morning, Sam walked into Wick’s Diner still half-asleep, her apron slung over her shoulder. Her hair was in a messy bun, and she had only bothered with one swipe of mascara before leaving the house. But none of that mattered, because as soon as she stepped behind the counter and started setting up coffee mugs, her eyes landed on something that stopped her.
A customer was reading “The Sun Also Rises”.
The same Hemingway novel Liam had once quoted to her when she teased him about being a brooding artist.
“I can't stand it to think my life is going so fast and I’m not really living it,” she remembered him saying, leaning back in his chair. “That line makes me want to get up and do something stupid.”
Now, here was that book again, peeking out from under a napkin dispenser at table four. Just seeing the title brought the memory crashing back with alarming force. And it made her smile—an involuntary, giddy sort of smile that curled at the edges of her mouth before she could stop it.
Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe it was just a book. But in that moment, it felt like the universe winking at her. A quiet reminder that Liam, somehow, was still present—even when he wasn’t physically there.
She spent the rest of her shift with that smile hovering just below the surface. She was still tired. Still confused. Still trying not to overanalyze every word he said or didn’t say. But something had changed.
It was the tiniest shift—like the tilt of sunlight through the blinds—but it made everything feel different.
And as she walked home later that day, kicking loose gravel from the sidewalk and watching the sky blush into dusk, Sam whispered to herself the thing she’d been too scared to say aloud.
“I think I like him.”
There was no one around to hear it. No dramatic music. No sudden breeze.
Just her, the evening, and the slow and terrifying possibility of something real beginning.