Keal

The diner smelled like fries, syrup, and rain-soaked jackets. Neon lights reflected against the windows while soft music hummed through the empty booths.

Kael sat across from you with his hood pushed back, thick locs falling over his eyes while he smiled at something on his phone. He looked half-asleep, half-amused, like he belonged in midnight moments and blurry memories.

“Why you staring?” he asked with a grin.

“You know exactly why.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back against the striped booth seat. Kael always acted confident, but every now and then his cheeks would warm whenever someone complimented him. Especially you.

The waitress dropped off another milkshake between you both. “You two are adorable,” she said before walking away.

Kael groaned dramatically. “See? Now she got me embarrassed.”

“You embarrassed?” you teased. “Impossible.”

He pointed the straw at you accusingly. “You make fun of me one more time and I’m stealing your fries.”

“You already ate half of them.”

“Exactly.”

Outside, thunder rolled softly across the sky. The rain trapped both of you there longer than expected, but neither of you minded. Kael started telling stories about his childhood—how he used to skateboard behind grocery stores and pretend he was too cool for school pictures.

“You definitely cried when your mom braided your hair too tight,” you joked.

He stared at you for a second before laughing so hard he nearly dropped his drink.

“Okay, maybe once.”

“You know,” he said softly, glancing down at you, “this might’ve been the best night I’ve had in a while.”

The city lights reflected in his eyes as he smiled again—warm, sleepy, genuine.