a difference. “This is just the ramblings of a high schooler.”

“No,” Leo said, his voice firm but gentle. “It’s the map to the life you’re going to have.

I kept it because it reminded me how much potential you had. And I wanted to see it come true.”

I stared at him, my throat tightening. “You really think I can do all this?”

His hand covered mine.

“I don’t think. I know. And I’ll be here, every step of the way.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I clutched the notebook to my chest.

“Leo… you’re kind of ruining me right now.”

He smirked. “Good. That’s my job.”

That night, as I lay in bed, the worn leather notebook resting on my lap, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t yet comprehend.

Leo’s arm was draped over me, his steady breathing warm against my shoulder.

I stared at the notebook, its pages brimming with dreams I’d long since forgotten, and felt something shift deep inside me.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this sooner?” I whispered, breaking the silence.

He stirred slightly but didn’t lift his head. “Because I didn’t want to pressure you,” he murmured sleepily. “You had to find your way back to those dreams on your own.”

I ran my fingers over the pages, my teenage handwriting almost foreign to me.

“But… what if I fail?”

Leo propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light. “Claire, failing isn’t the worst thing. Never trying?

That’s worse.”

His words lingered long after he drifted back to sleep. By morning, I’d made up my mind.

Over the next few weeks, I began tearing down the walls I’d built around myself. I quit the desk job I’d never loved and threw myself into the idea that had lived rent-free in my head for years: a bookstore café.

Leo became my rock, standing by me through late nights, financial hiccups, and my relentless self-doubt.

“Do you think people will actually come here?” I asked him one night as we painted the walls of the shop.

He leaned on the ladder, smirking. “You’re kidding, right? A bookstore with coffee?

You’ll have people lining up just to smell the place.”

He wasn’t wrong. By the time we opened, it wasn’t just a business—it was a part of the community. And it was ours.

Now, as I sit behind the counter of our thriving bookstore café, watching Leo help our toddler pick up crayons from the floor, I think back to that notebook—the spark that reignited a fire in me I didn’t know had gone out.

Leo glanced up, catching my eye.

“What’s that look for?” he asked, grinning.

“Nothing,” I said, my heart full. “Just thinking… I really did marry the right teacher.”

“Damn right, you did,” he said, winking.