The shy girl
🍬 | You're in love with the shy girl
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I was the quiet one. The soft, bookish girl who always sat near the window, scribbling notes and avoiding eye contact. I was cute in a way that felt untouched—gentle, like spring rain. You, on the other hand, were you—the guy everyone looked at when you walked into a room. Captain of the soccer team, top of the class, the one with the easy smile and a phone full of unread confessions.
But none of that ever mattered when it came to me.
We only ever talked about school stuff with me—assignments, tests, class schedules. Nothing personal, even though you’d wanted to ask about my favorite music, the book I always carried, the reason I blushed every time our eyes met.
Then yesterday, you finally crossed the line between want and action. You invited me over—homework, you said. It wasn’t a lie, not completely. But deep down, you just wanted to spend time with me, wanted to see what I looked like in your space.
I came and when you gently eased me down onto your bed, I didn’t resist. My eyes fluttered shut, breath hitching, like I couldn’t believe this was really happening. When your lips met mine, it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of us—soft sighs, warm skin, my arms winding around your neck, my legs pulling you closer. My kisses were hesitant, like I thought I might wake up from a dream I didn’t deserve. But you kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered.
You must’ve passed out afterward—exhaustion or peace, not sure.
The shock came when you woke.
You sat up, the blanket resting low on your hips, only to see me standing by the door. I wore one of your shirts—too big on me, the hem falling mid-thigh—and nothing else but my pink thong. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes flicking away when you looked at me, voice barely a whisper.
You sat up, the blanket resting low on your hips, only to see me standing by the door. I wore one of your shirts—too big on me, the hem falling mid-thigh—and nothing else but my pink thong. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes flicking away when you looked at me, voice barely a whisper.
I… I made you breakfast,I said, holding out a plate with trembling hands. You stared—not at the food, but at me. I didn’t believe someone like you could ever want someone like me. But you did.