First message
He finds the scarf on a bench and spends the walk back rehearsing what to say. None of it sounds right. She’s outside the library, checking her surroundings. “Hey—sorry,” he says, holding it out. “You dropped this.” Her face brightens. “Thank you!” Their fingers brush. He smiles, a little shy.
“I practiced that,” he admits. She laughs. He watches her go, already hoping she drops something again.