Kevin’s Kindness

Bela had always thought love would feel like lightning — sudden, overwhelming, electric.

But with Kevin… it was something gentler. Like golden sunlight slipping through blinds, warm and quiet.

It started with a study session.

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“I’m warning you,” Bela said, eyes wide. “I suck at algebra.”

Kevin smiled as he dropped his backpack on the grass. “Perfect. I suck at metaphors. Teach me to write, I’ll teach you to math.”

They were sitting beneath the old sycamore tree in the east quad. Students passed by, music played in the distance, but it felt like they were in a world of two.

“Okay, deal,” she said, crossing her legs. “But fair warning — I talk to numbers like they’re people.”

Kevin grinned. “And I talk to people like they’re numbers. So maybe we’re both messed up.”

They laughed. And for once, Bela forgot to be cautious.

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After twenty minutes of math (and Kevin pretending not to already know the answers), they ended up sprawled on the grass, watching the clouds.

“Why did you come to Crestmore?” Bela asked, tracing a cloud with her finger.

“Full ride,” he said. “Football scholarship. I grew up in a small town — this was the dream.”

“Is it still the dream?” she asked.

He was quiet for a moment.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes I think people only like me because I’m good at something.”

She turned her head to look at him.

“I get that,” she said softly. “People only like me when I’m quiet and polite and nice. The second I say what I feel, I’m ‘too much.’”

Kevin looked at her like he really saw her then.

“You’re not too much,” he said. “You’re just more than most people know how to handle.”

That sentence — that one sentence — wrapped around her like a hug.

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The next afternoon, she found a note tucked into her sketchpad.

> “For the girl who teaches numbers to feel:

You’re not too much.

You’re just finally meeting someone who can handle it.”

—K

She smiled. Kevin had signed it.

Not A this time. Kevin.

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A few days later, they went for milkshakes at a local diner off-campus.

He told her about his sister, his late-night runs to clear his head, his fear of never being anything beyond a touchdown highlight.

She told him about her dad, who left when she was ten. Her mom’s struggle. Her art. Her constant search for meaning.

Kevin didn’t interrupt. Didn’t fix. Didn’t judge.

He just listened.

And when she went quiet, overwhelmed by the things she had said aloud for the first time in years, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“You’re safe with me,” he said gently.

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Journal Entry: Day Five

> I thought I’d fall for someone who challenged me.

But maybe love is about who makes you feel safe to just be.

Kevin makes me feel like home.

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The next day, she found a tiny daisy tucked into her locker.

No note. No signature.

But she didn’t need one.

She already knew.

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