Spring is not arrival,
it’s a quiet return,
not something that starts,
but something you learn.

The light lingers longer
whether ready or not,
the air shifts its weight,
and the world changes thought.

The same street you walk
feels less firm in excuse,
like something inside you
has loosened its noose.

Nothing blooms all at once,
not the trees, not you,
it comes in small moments
you barely think through.

A window left open,
a walk without strain,
a pause where you don’t
fold back in again.

The world doesn’t ask
for your timing or say,
it simply keeps turning,
it simply makes way.

And somewhere within
that slow, steady return,
you find you were never
as stuck as you’d learned.

Romeo scrolled through the event page for the third time. Some influencer’s brand launch disguised as a birthday. Open bar. DJ. “Elevated vibes only” in the caption.

“You’re overthinking,” Mercutio said, already halfway through a vodka soda he’d somehow manifested. “It’s giving main character energy. You need to see this.”

“I don’t need to see anything.”

“Rosaline posted a story from here twenty minutes ago.” Mercutio held up his phone. “Tell me you’re not still in your feelings about that.”

Romeo wasn’t. Or he thought he wasn’t. The typing bubble had appeared and disappeared so many times last week he’d finally just deleted the thread.

“I’m just saying,” Mercutio continued, “you’ve been in your villain era for like two months. Time to rotate.”

The venue pulsed. Ring lights clustered near the bar where someone filmed content. A photographer circled, catching people mid-laugh, performing casual. Nobody actually relaxed. Half the room was building a brand. The other half was pretending not to be, which was somehow worse.

Romeo felt the weight of his phone in his pocket. The urge to check if anyone had liked his story. The math of it—posting too much, not enough, at the wrong time.

“There.” Mercutio grabbed his shoulder, steered him toward the corner where the lighting was better.

That’s when Romeo saw her.

She stood near the back, watching someone take a photo, her expression somewhere between amused and exhausted. Dark hair. Oversized blazer. The kind of person who could read a room in thirty seconds and decide it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Low-key obsessed with whatever’s happening in your brain right now,” Mercutio said. “Your face just did something unhinged.”

Romeo wasn’t listening. She’d pulled out her phone, glanced at it, put it away. The universal sign of someone killing time, deciding whether to leave.

He should wait. Not be weird. Approach later, casually.

He walked over anyway.

“You look like you’re having the time of your life,” he said.

She looked up. Paused. “And you look like someone who just committed to a terrible decision.”

“Accurate.”

Juliet studied him for a second. Not judging. Just… taking something in.

“You don’t seem over it,” she said. “You just seem… tired of talking about it.”

Romeo let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a laugh and something heavier. “That obvious?”

“Only if you’re paying attention.” She didn’t look away immediately. Most people did.

A beat settled between them.

Something shifted in her expression. Not quite a smile, but close.

“You weren’t going to come over, were you?” she said. “You look like someone who argued with himself about it for ten minutes.”

He huffed a laugh. “That long?”

“Minimum.”

“My friend thinks I’m in my villain era.”

Juliet tilted her head. “Are you?”

Romeo glanced past her, toward the crowd, then back again. “I think my brain and my feelings are just… not on the same team right now.”

She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, like she was deciding whether to believe him.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “That tracks.”

A brief silence settled between them. Not awkward. Just… unclaimed.

Romeo took a sip from his glass. “Honestly? I have no idea what era I’m in.”

She laughed. An actual one, unfiltered. “That’s the most honest thing anyone’s said to me all night.” She looked at the crowd. “Most people don’t want connection,” she added. “They just don’t want to feel alone for a few hours.”

Romeo’s brain did the thing it always did—calculated, recalculated. Should he ask for her Instagram? Too direct. Her number? Even worse. Just keep talking and see what happens? Probably the move, but also—

“I’m Juliet,” she said, before he could spiral further.

“Romeo.”

“Your parents really named you that?”

“Yours really named you Juliet?”

“Touché.”

She glanced past him, toward the door. “You know whose party this is, right?”

“Some influencer? I don’t actually—”

“It’s my cousin’s.”

A beat.

“The Capulet launch.”

Something dropped in Romeo’s chest.

“…Right.”

“You’re a Montague.” She said it like a fact, not an accusation. “Your family’s the one who tanked their deal last year.”

“That was business. I wasn’t even—”

“I know.” She looked at him differently now. Sharper. “You say that like it doesn’t follow you into rooms.”

They stood there. Music pulsed. Someone’s flash went off nearby.

“This is very ‘wrong place, wrong time’ coded,” Juliet said finally.

“Yeah.”

“So what now?”

Romeo pulled out his phone. “I could leave. Or—”

“Or?”

“I could get your number and we both pretend this is a terrible idea.”

“You’re really going to do this?” She said.

“Probably not,” he said, looking at the floor.

A beat.

She smiled. “Let me see your phone.”

Later, alone in his room, Romeo stared at the contact. Just her first name. No last name, like that made it safer.

He typed: that was

Deleted it.

Typed: so are we just

Deleted it.

The typing bubble appeared on her end. Disappeared. Appeared again.

His heart did something stupid.

Her message came through: this is a terrible idea right

He typed back immediately: the worst

Three dots. Then: okay good just checking

Romeo lay back on his bed, phone on his chest. He should wait before replying. Not seem too eager.

He typed: so when can I see you again

Sent it before he could overthink.

The dots appeared. Stayed. Disappeared.

He refreshed the chat. Nothing.

Then, finally: tomorrow? but like. discreetly

discreetly works

this is so delulu

completely

The conversation continued like that. Messages sent fast, then slow. Both of them deleting things. Both of them knowing this was momentum they probably shouldn’t follow.

But momentum doesn’t ask permission.