---

Thea met Cassian in elementary school. On the playground, to be specific.

In a few words: they hated each other.

Silly pranks and childish name-calling was one thing, but by the time they reached middle school, neither could see each other in the hallway without scowling. As adults, they simply avoided one another.

If you asked them where their animosity began, they would pause, purse their lips, and ultimately shrug. “We always have. I don’t remember why.”

Well, let me tell you why.

It was because of Zac.

Zac had been a seven-year-old bully who couldn’t stand it when people were nice to each other but not to him. It never occurred to him – and was indeed never taught to him – that he had to be kind to others if he wanted them to be kind to him. The only words he had to offer were insults, so it was no wonder Thea ignored him when he demanded she surrender the swing she was occupying.

Instead of channeling his frustration productively, he did what he had seen his older brother do to their sister every single day since he was born: he pushed Thea.

She landed on her palms and knees with a thud, pain a foreign sensation wracking her body. Shock prevented her from yelling back at Zac, who was gleefully kicking his feet in the air like he could reach the sky by sheer force of will.

And when fat, burning tears made their escape down her cheeks, Cassian had been there to help her up.

He offered her a hand, smiling when she hesitated, and he led her to a bench away from the mean little boy who couldn’t wait his turn.

“Are you okay?” Cassian asked.

She sniffled. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He didn’t respond that time, just swung his legs idly on the too-tall bench they were sitting on. Only a few days prior, he had moved into town with his dad, so he didn’t have any by way of friends.

After the tears stopped flowing, she tucked her hands under her thighs and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Cassian Song. It’s my first day here.”

She mustered enough courage to ask, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Cassian shrugged, eyes on the soccer game going on a few feet away. “He did a mean thing. I don’t think our teachers saw him.”

Nodding, she said, “Thank you.”

He smiled at her again. “You’re welcome.”

Little did they know, little Zac Dermot had borne witness to their tenuous new friendship. He frowned at their cordial interaction.

The very next day in class, during quiet reading time, Zac leaned in closer to Cassian and whispered, “Do you really have slimy hands?”

Cassian recoiled. “No. Why?”

Zac glanced over to where Thea was studiously reading her copy of Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters. “I heard Thea talking to Chloe Anderson, and she said you have slimy hands.”

Sputtering, Cassian managed, “I – I don’t have slimy hands.”

Ms. Chang cleared her throat pointedly, eyeing the boys.

Zac returned his eyes to his book, but he said, “Well, I’m just telling you what she said.”

During their afternoon recess block, Thea asked Cassian if he wanted to play a game of tag with her and Chloe.

He ignored her. A middle-schooler might make a snide remark, and an adult might communicate clearly, but at seven years old, Cassian’s emotional capacity hadn’t yet matured enough for either of those two actions. His mother always taught him, “If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all.”

So, he said nothing. When she asked him again, louder in case he didn’t hear her the first time, he made eye contact with her and promptly walked away to chat with Zac.

Thea couldn’t reconcile the nice Cassian from the day before with the rude one who just ignored her, but she attempted to move on.

Whenever Cassian’s avoidance of Thea waned, Zac would whisper another lie in his ear. She said you smell. I heard her tell Chloe you’re dumb. Worst of all: She said your mom is dead because she didn’t want to be around you anymore.

I know. What a horrific thing to say to another human being. (Don’t worry, Cassian will get his time in therapy. Lots of it.)

Thea would try to invite him to play with her a few more times before he resorted to calling her names. He wasn’t going to tell her he knew the reasons why she purportedly hated his guts; again, communicating wasn’t his strong suit at seven.

When they moved up to third grade, they were thankfully sorted into different classes. None of Mrs. Chang’s attempts to speak to their parents had ever made a lasting impact. Zac’s family relocated several provinces to the west, but the damage had already been done.

They wouldn’t have to spend time together until they reached middle school, but even in their shared chemistry class, they sat entire rows away from each other. When they graduated high school, Cassian went to sunny California to study game design, and Thea stayed in Ontario to major in international relations.

---

Thea and Cassian never crossed paths again until one fateful day outside Chipotle.

They are twenty-four years old now. Cassian has a well-to-do job in a software company doing very cool things I would love to tell you about after a quick Google search, and Thea is in her first year of law school.

Both of them love Chipotle. Thea drops by on her way to her tort law class every Thursday morning, grabbing a burrito with both rices, half chicken and half pulled pork, no beans, all the salsas, and as much corn as they could stuff inside. As for Cassian, well, he likes to go places and eat things whenever he feels like it, but he couldn’t resist an extra-large bag of chips and guac.

Anyway, I digress.

One such Thursday morning, Thea visits her regular Chipotle as usual. A group of guys come in as she’s ordering, causing enough noise to make her words come out shorter, tension mounting in her neck. She tips the cashier and turns to leave.

Her nose slams into a wall. Why the hell is there a wall here? she thinks.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t see you there,” a man’s voice says.

She shakes her head, dusting herself off even though the impact wasn’t even that big a deal. Annoyed, she gives a halfhearted hum and angles her body to get out of his way.

“Wait – Thea? Thea Santoso?”

Shoulders stiff, she looks up and up to make eye contact with the wall.

Her scowl forms even before her brain connects the dots. Call it human instinct.

“Cassian Song,” she says.

It has been years – six, in fact – since they last saw each other. It isn’t like they share any friends.

She’s surprised at how much he’s grown, how different he seems compared to the ruddy-faced eighteen-year-old she had spied across the auditorium at their high school graduation. Taller. Comfortable in his skin.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, finding himself liking her rounded glasses a little too much. That familiar fire lined her stance. His eyes land on the textbook peeking out of her full tote bag. “Introduction to Law. Oh, wow. You’re in law school?”

A bunch of ants scuttling down her spine, she can only nod.

“Hey, Cass, we’re heading back. You coming?” one of the other noisy guys calls out from the door.

Cassian looks over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m coming. Just give me a sec.” He turns back to Thea. “Sorry about that.”

She’s still standing there, frozen. No part of their interaction thus far has made any sort of sense. There is no reason for him to be so warm considering how cold their relationship had been for the better part of eleven years.

When she still fails to formulate sounds, Cassian awkwardly tugs on his collar. “Well, it was nice seeing you again.”

With a final nod, he pivots and follows his friends back to the office.

For the rest of that day, Thea is unable to shove the conversation out of her mind. Cassian thinks about those childhood squabbles of theirs, and how a potential friendship had gone awry based on the feeble word of a schoolyard bully.

---

It’s Thursday again. Thea has strategically chosen to come earlier than last week just in case Cassian and his band of buddies have decided to make Chipotle part of their routine, too.

She makes it halfway down the block with her burrito before she catches his unkempt pile of hair walking towards her. Without his band of buddies.

“Shit,” she mutters. It’s too late for her to turn around and cross the street, so she resolves to tuck her chin and hope he doesn’t notice her.

If that happened, this story wouldn’t exist, now would it?

His eyes light up when they spot her. “Hey, Thea. Chipotle again?”

This time, she’s ready. “Yep.”

“Any recommendations on what to order?”

That gives her pause. “Um, their corn is really good. You can substitute rice with salad. I would get extra salsa, but that’s really just me.”

“All right, thanks,” he says with a smile. “Have a good day, Thea.”

He continues on his way, and when she spares a glance over her shoulder, she realizes he’s already looking at her as he enters Chipotle.

“Shit,” she mutters, heat flooding her face.

---

These innocuous interactions continue every Thursday for two months. He asks her what she orders, what she’s reading, if law school is going well. Though she is initially adamant that she would respond as succinctly as possible, over time, she finds herself anticipating his smile. He never forces the conversation; indeed, when she’s scowling at her burrito as she exits Chipotle, he just gives her a nod of acknowledgment. It feels like they’re strangers who used to know each other.

One day, she blurts out, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

An echo, of a memory that years of mutual dislike had buried.

Cassian cocks his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because we hate each other,” she replied, as if she were teaching a class on the etymology of the word sonograph.

“Do we?” He knows what she’s referring to, but the words had been so natural that he couldn’t have prevented them so much as a wave could keep from breaking on the shore. “I don’t think we do.”

She blows a stray lock of hair out of her face. “You know what I mean, Cass.”

The first time she’s ever used his nickname. He hides the smile that tugs on the corner of his mouth, the warm tingle dancing down his spine. “Why do we hate each other, Thea?”

Opening her mouth to answer, nothing comes out. “I – I don’t know.”

He hums in response. Eyes flickering beyond her shoulder, he tugs on her hand to bring them closer to Chipotle’s storefront windows. A kid on a hoverboard whizzes past them where she had been standing.

“You all right?” he asks.

Her eyes are trained on his, still wrapped around hers.

“My dad died two years ago,” Cassian says.

She stifles whatever reaction her face was going to make, but he must see something there, for he gives a wisp of a smile.

“I know. It’s random information you didn’t ask for. But after he died, I went to therapy. It was…a lot of talking. Dad put me in therapy after my mom…you know, and it helped, so I found a therapist who specializes in grief. She also helped me sort through a lot of other trauma I hadn’t really connected with my behaviour.”

She waits for him to finish his thought journey, watching as his grip tightens around her hand. Even if it means she’ll be late to class, she isn’t coldhearted enough to interrupt him like this, and she kind of likes the way his thumb runs back and forth across her knuckles.

Cassian meets her gaze. “Did you really tell Zac Dermot that my hands are slimy?”

Brows furrowed, mind working overtime, she makes the connection. “Is that why you started ignoring me?”

“He also said you thought I was dumb and other really horrible shit I won’t even bother repeating.” Cassian shakes his head, chuckling. “I never even questioned if he was lying.”

“He was,” she confirmed, just for the record.

“I figured as much, after about half a therapy session.” He remembers all those years of avoiding particular paths to math class, taking a different set of stairs so he wouldn’t have to see Thea Santoso with her gaggle of friends. What a waste. “Anyway, I don’t hate you. I don’t think I ever truly did. I’m sorry for how my behaviour affected you and might still affect you now.”

Deep confessions and an apology? Thea thinks to herself. Out loud, she says, “I accept your apology, so long as you accept mine. I wasn’t very nice to you either.”

Cassian lets go of her only to hold out his hand. “Hi. I’m Cassian. It’s nice to meet you.”

She snorts, but she smiles as she gives it a shake. “Hi, Cassian. I’m Thea.”

---

Seven days pass, and Thea shows up to Chipotle early enough to be able to eat in the restaurant. Cassian is there, like she somehow knew he would be, and he points at the burrito he ordered for her.

Both rices, half chicken and half pulled pork, no beans, all the salsas, and so much corn she almost chokes on it. Almost.

“Thanks,” she says once she’s had a couple bites.

He’s snacking on his chips and guac, an empty cup of water sitting beside his unused napkins. “You’re welcome.”

Neither say anything else as they eat. There were no hellos, or goodbyes. It’s the hour they spend together every Thursday, and some weeks, just sharing a meal is enough.

---

A month later, Thea doesn’t show up because she’s sick. She gets out of bed only long enough to use the bathroom.

Cassian doesn’t know that, of course, nor does he have her number, so he suppresses the blind panic at the thought that something may have happened, or that she has chosen to ghost him. They have been eating lunch together every week without fail, and he worries more than misses her – but he does miss her, too.

When she arrives in Chipotle the following Thursday, he doesn’t ask where she was. He doesn’t tell her that her cold burrito had been given to a beggar on the corner where his office is located. He doesn’t try to even breach the topic.

“Sorry I didn’t come,” she says with her mouth full, her throat no longer itchy but leftover phlegm colouring her voice. “I was sick.”

At that, Cassian swivels in his seat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He regrets the words immediately. He doesn’t want to be confrontational, doesn’t want to act like she owes him any sort of life updates. Whatever they have, he has learned not to set expectations on any relationship, to be open to possibility.

Thea frowns. “How would I have?”

Cassian’s already pulling out his phone. “This has been invented, you know.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ve never exchanged numbers.”

A retort on the tip of his tongue, he exhales sharply. “Thea, may I have your phone number?”

Snorting, she shrugs. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

She puts down her half-eaten burrito. “Does this mean we have to text now?”

“Do I seem like a texter?” he asks instead, raising his eyebrows.

Her hand nabs one of his chips and stuffs it in her mouth. She chews and swallows, not once breaking eye contact. “No.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just offers his phone. She inputs her number, saving her contact name as Chipotle Girl, and finishes her burrito. A buzz on her thigh indicates he just hit send on the message he’d been writing.

“Next time you’re sick, call me,” he tells her.

“Okay.”

---

Cassian and Thea aren’t the sort of people to divulge their lifelong secrets, if they have any to begin with, but after thirty-one weeks of eating lunch together, they know each other pretty well.

He always has her burrito waiting for her by the time she gets to Chipotle. His shirts are crisp, his shoes polished, but his hair is never neat. There is a scar on his right cheek that he got playing lacrosse in university. He prefers black beans over pinto, despises chocolate, and listens to Lizzo to stay motivated.

Thea is the more reticent of the two, and somehow he knows her just as well. She isn’t close to her family because they equate her worth with her achievements. Her Vans are scuffed, her hoodie even more so, but her books as pristine as the day she bought them. She will dodge personal questions but will answer them the next Thursday unprompted, often in greater detail than he would have ever dared to hope.

It’s almost summer. Cassian can’t stop thinking about her the other six days of the week. Thea eagerly awaits his smile and wishes she could see it more often.

They finish eating well before she needs to leave for her final class of the term. This day’s meal is accompanied by a rousing argument of whether bananas are the top-tier fruit that is widely available in a grocery store. Once they’ve disposed of their garbage, they meander outside, presenting their closing statements.

Then, when it’s time to leave, Thea looks deep, deeper into his eyes. Something there beckons her towards him. Their childhood is but a faint memory now.

“Cassian,” she murmurs.

When did that distance between them shrink to nothing?

“Thea,” he returns, his smile easing the stress lines around his eyes.

She gulps, swallowing her nervousness. Just do it.

He raises a single eyebrow in question.

Confidence steels her spine. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Cassian’s smile morphs into a grin. He leans down so their foreheads touch, noting her breath catch in her throat. “Okay, I guess.”

She draws back. “You gue-”

He presses his lips to hers, muffling the rest of her sentence. His hands meet on the small of her back and tug her as close as humanly possible without being obscene. They’re in public, after all.

Thea melts into his embrace, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. She makes a noise of surprise when he lifts her off her feet so their faces are level, but it gives her a better vantage from which to kiss him more, and more, and more.

When their breaths are heavy and their minds blissfully blank, Cassian sets her down.

“That took us long enough, huh?” he murmurs, voice low.

She hums in agreement. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything,” he says easily.

“I’m so sick of Chipotle.”

He laughs, and her whole body shakes with his. “Me too.”

“And I want to see you more often than once a week.”

His eyes soften. “Me too.”