​When It Started

(Creamy Garlic Alfredo)

This was the meal I associate with the moment I realized something had changed. It wasn’t dramatic, just a quiet awareness that I cared more than I expected to, honestly more than I wanted to. It was late, the dorm was still, and I had cooked something familiar because I didn’t want the food to be the focus.

As she ate, she listened. In between bites, she told me about her passions, her dreams, the things that scared her when she thought too far ahead. I remember the way she squeezed her lips slightly while she chewed, as if she was holding onto each thought before letting it go. It caught me off guard how something so small could make me feel so present.

Somewhere in that stillness, my investment grew. Slowly, without asking permission. I remember feeling nervous, not because of her, but because we barely knew each other and I could already feel myself caring too much, too fast. I worried that if I let it show, it might push her away.

The pasta was warm and familiar, something I knew how to make without thinking. Maybe that’s why the moment felt safe enough for something new to begin.