When the Story Continues (Sequel to When the Script Changes)

Chapter 19: First Date

Sam frowned slightly. "What does that mean?"

Mon sighed, dropping her hands. "You're... cool. And mysterious. And kind of intimidating. And I am none of those things."

Sam was quiet for a moment.

Then, to Mon's surprise, she reached across the table and took Mon's hand.

"You think I'm cool?" Sam asked, amusement in her voice.

Mon blushed furiously. "That's what you got from that?"

Sam shrugged, playing with Mon's fingers. "You're wrong, you know."

Mon tilted her head. "About what?"

Sam met her gaze, serious now. "I'm not that cool. And I'm definitely not as intimidating as people think I am."

Mon opened her mouth, but Sam continued—

"If anything, I think you're the one who's intimidating."

Mon gawked at her. "Excuse me?"

Sam smirked. "You walk around making friends with everyone, smiling like the world hasn't done you wrong. That's terrifying."

Mon stared.

Because what.

She had never thought of it like that.

Before she could even process it, their food arrived, and Sam pulled her hand back, as if the moment hadn't just made Mon's heart explode.

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The date was... easy.

Sam, for all her cold and distant tendencies, was surprisingly thoughtful.

She remembered how Mon liked her ramen—extra broth, no seaweed.

She offered Mon the last piece of tempura without hesitation.

She even listened—really listened—as Mon rambled about her childhood, her dreams, her embarrassing stories.

And when Sam talked, Mon realized—

She was soft.

She wasn't cold.

She was careful.

She didn't just hand her heart over to people.

But somehow, she was letting Mon in.

And that?

That made Mon fall even harder.

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After dinner, they walked back toward campus.

The air was crisp, the streetlights casting long shadows as they strolled side by side.

Neither of them spoke at first.

But the silence was comfortable.

Then, out of nowhere—

Sam sighed. "I don't do this often."

Mon glanced at her. "Do what?"

Sam shoved her hands in her pockets. "Dates."

Mon's heart skipped a beat. "Why not?"

Sam hesitated. Then—

"Because people always expect me to be something I'm not."

Mon frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sam exhaled through her nose, clearly debating whether or not to say more.

But eventually, she did.

"They see the leather jacket, the attitude, and they think they want me. But it's not me they want. It's the idea of me."

Mon stopped walking.

Sam did too, turning to face her.

Mon took a step closer. Then another.

And then, with the softest voice, she said—

"I don't want the idea of you."

Sam's breath hitched.

Mon reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.

"I just want you," Mon whispered.

For the first time, Sam looked—vulnerable.

Like no one had ever said those words to her before.

Then, slowly, she squeezed Mon's hand.

"Okay," she murmured. "Then you can have me."

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They stood there for a long time, hands intertwined, the city buzzing softly around them.

Mon swore Sam was about to kiss her.

She swore she felt it—the shift, the silent permission.

But then—

Sam took a step back.

Not rejection. Just... restraint.

"Not yet," she murmured.

Mon blinked. "Not yet?"

Sam smirked. "You'll get your first kiss. Just not tonight."

Mon groaned dramatically. "You're torturing me."

Sam chuckled, finally pulling away.

"Goodnight, Mon."

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Mon standing there—

Heart pounding.

Face burning.

And completely, utterly in love.