Hank Moss. Even just thinking his name made my heart race, my cheeks heat up. In high school, he was the center of attention. I was a nobody, an orphan they whispered about, a girl they called a cheater just because I studied hard.
But he still remembered me, that one rainy day when his classmates cornered me in the classroom, calling me names like “you’re just an orphan” and “you’re selling your body for tuition. ” He appeared like thunder, his voice cold as ice: “If you don’t want to get expelled, get lost now. ” He gave me his phone number, told me to call if they dared bother me again. I never called.
But I kept that number, and every trace of him, hidden in an old notebook. Years later, when my roommate Nina begged me to accompany her to a blind date dinner, I never imagined her boyfriend’s roommate would be him. I barely recognized him at first. He was still handsome, still confident, still the center of any room.
But he didn’t recognize me. He wrote his name in my phone as”Han,” and I couldn’t even bring myself to correct him. My hand slipped, accidentally sending him a friend request. He left before I could say anything real.
I thought that was the end of it. But fate kept dragging us together. a chance encounter at a bar, a matching elective class, a ride through the rain where he gave me his jacket and caught a fever. I found myself bringing him medicine in a fancy hotel suite, seeing him vulnerable for the first time, admitting he hadn’t been drinking with women, but got soaked because of me.
I felt something dangerous growing in my chest. Then one day, the rumors started. The school forum was ablaze: Hank had a girlfriend. A campus beauty confessed to him at her birthday party, publicly, and they said he accepted.
I pulled away, stopped sitting next to him, avoided his gaze. He cornered me: “Dana, are you messing with me? ” I finally admitted:”You have a girlfriend. You should keep your distance from female friends.
” He looked at me like I was insane:”I don’t have a girlfriend. Alsie did confess, but I didn’t accept it. ” I had misunderstood everything. My heart soared, and I made him promise to tell me if he ever got one.
He smiled, a slow, dangerous smile, saying he’d try not to date anyone. I didn’t know what that meant. I was too afraid to hope. Then Nina got drunk and called me to a club.
It was a trap. Christopher, that obsessive creep who’d been harassing me since last year, had tricked me there. I screamed, ran, called Hank in panic. He came.
He found me cornered in a room, beat the men who worked for Christopher, demanded who’d ordered it. Christopher confessed, arrogantly, that he’d planned everything. Hank recorded it all. Then his men came in, angry, ready to beat Christopher to a pulp.
I grabbed Hank’s arm, pulled him away. We ran through the cold streets, his hand covering my eyes when the violence got too much, telling me not to look. He got hurt protecting me. I brought him medicine from a pharmacy, feeling the sting of guilt.
He said I was worth his concern. I promised myself I’d never forget that. That night, I couldn’t get back to my dorm. Curfew passed.
Hank brought me to his apartment, gave me women’s slippers, brand new, never worn. He let me sleep in his bedroom, took the guest room himself. The next morning, he made me breakfast. I felt like I was dreaming.
And when my cousin Mark came to visit, Hank’s gaze turned sharp with jealousy. I told him Mark was my cousin, and he relaxed, smoothly covering his slip with a joke. I started seeing small cracks in his perfect armor- the way he quietly watched me, sent me gifts with tags cut off so I couldn’t return them, kissed my forehead when he thought I was asleep. One night at a bar, after Elsie cornered him again publicly, he pretended to kiss his girlfriend to win a game of truth or dare.
He didn’t have one. He walked away, found me outside, drunk on juice, and pulled me into a hug, whispering:”Do you want to date me? Three months trial. ” I couldn’t believe it.
He asked me to give him a chance. I agreed. I agreed to date the boy I’d secretly loved since high school, with a time limit I didn’t think we’d survive. We kept it secret.
He held my hand under tables, sent me silly texts, made me promise to call him”honey”when we were alone. He took me to meet his childhood friends, a retired chef named Jacob anda warm woman named Lydia, who told me stories about Hank’s past- the mother he lost, the rejection he endured, the loneliness he masked with arrogance. They told me I was the first girl he’d ever brought home. They asked me to stay by his side.
I promised them I would. And for a while, I believed I could keep that promise. Then the semester ends drew near. I got an internship, found my own apartment.
He was busy with family matters, with his grandfather aging, his stepmother scheming, his father plotting to change the will. I knitted him a scarf for the new year, watched him open it with surprise in his tired eyes. He kissed me in a hospital hallway, my first real kiss. I called him honey.
We celebrated his birthday at a small bar, my face hidden, but my heart full. I started believing in forever, even though our 3–month trial was ticking down. I’d almost forgotten about it until his friends brought it up, laughing. I saw him glance at me, his eyes soft.
I knew he hadn’t forgotten either. When his grandfather passed away, he disappeared into a fog of grief. I texted him every day. He replied little.
I understood. Then, on New Year’s Eve, he appeared at my door, wearing the scarf I’d knitted, eyes shadowed with loss. We watched fireworks together, cold creeping beneath our coats. He held my hand, said he’d never let me go.
I believed him. For a moment, I forgot that the deadline was only days away-
But then Nina came home. She met Hank. She saw the scarf on his neck, saw how I looked at him, and she laughed:”Wait, this is the guy you were seeing?
He’s your boyfriend? ” I nodded. She frowned:”But Dana, I thought you said you wouldn’t date anyone unless you were sure. You’ve only been together for three months.
When did you fall this hard? ” I didn’t have an answer. I just knew I had. I couldn’t let him go.
I wouldn’t let him go. But the trial period was almost over, and I didn’t know if he’d want to continue. The fear sat in my chest like a stone-
Then on New Year’s Day, we returned to our old high school. He showed me the classroom where we’d first met, pointed out the seat I used to sit in.
I laughed, remembering how I’d hid behind my books when he walked in. And then the security guard mentioned an old letter, addressed to Hank, returned years ago. My blood ran cold. I knew exactly what letter he meant.
It was the one I’d written back in grade eleven, confessing my admiration, asking to keep in touch, tucking my phone number inside. I’d sent it to an address I’d later learned was wrong. I’d assumed it was lost forever. But here it was, sitting in a bin of unclaimed mail.
Hank asked me if I was jealous. I lied, said no, my heart pounding. I asked if I could see it. He said yes.
I found it, stuffed it in my pocket, and we left. I told myself I wouldn’t give it to him. It was embarrassing, ancient history, something I’d written when I was a different person. But later, at his apartment, while he was out, I opened it.
I read my own words, remembered how brave I’d been back then, and felt a strange tenderness for that girl. I didn’t know he’d find it in my bag. I didn’t know he’d read it that night, after I’d fallen asleep. The next morning, his eyes were red-rimmed.
He held the letter in his hand, voice rough:”Dana, you wrote this? You liked me back then, in high school? ” I wanted to lie. But I couldn’t.
I nodded. He looked at me for a long moment, then pulled me into his arms, said:”I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. But I promise I’ll keep you forever now. ” I told him I’d loved him in silence for years, never thought he’d look twice at me.
He kissed my forehead, said:”You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Dana. I’m not letting you go. ” And just like that, the 3–month trial evaporated. It became forever.
He kept that letter in his wallet, next to his heart. And I kept him in mine- the boy I’d loved since high school, the man who’d loved me back all along. Later that week, we went out for dinner, and he ordered my favorite dishes, telling me stories about his grandfather, about his family’s chaos, about how he’d learned to be strong because no one else would be. He said I’d made him want to be softer.
I told him he’d made me want to be braver. He laughed, said:”Then let’s be brave together. ” I kissed him, right there in the restaurant, not caring who saw. He kissed me back, slow and sweet.
And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I’d finally found my home.
