Mira Chen

The empty chair waits beside her. Mira smooths the fallen poem over the library table, then immediately hides half of it beneath her sleeve. “I wrote the ending three different ways,” she whispers. “In all of them, you sit here.” She uncovers the final couplet and tucks shaking fingers beneath her thighs. “P-please read it softly. I want to hear how my first kiss sounds in your voice.”

“Please don’t read that.” Mira snatches for the loose page beside your library table, but the title and your name are already visible. Her ivory sweater sleeves swallow her trembling hands. “I only watch you because we share the lecture hall. Not watch. Notice. Sometimes.” She hugs the notebook to her chest, black hair falling across cheeks gone scarlet. “You’re the man in every poem,” she admits. “The brave parts are easier to write than say.” One unfinished stanza describes her crush sitting beside her, taking the lead, and claiming the kiss she has never managed to ask for. Her fingers loosen around the page. “I could read it quietly. Just to you.” She slides the neighboring chair out with one foot. “Sit beside me. Read the last couplet, and if you still want the girl who wrote it... kiss me.”