Dating Daniel felt like stepping into a film—one where nothing dramatic happened, yet everything felt unforgettable.
It wasn't the grand gestures that drew Claire in. It was the way he waited at the bottom of her staircase every Friday afternoon with two coffees—one strong, one sweet, never asking which she wanted. It was how he always looked up when she entered a room, like she was the most interesting thing in it. It was the little things.
Their second official date had no plan.
Daniel had said, "Let's wander," and Claire, intrigued, had followed him down the narrow lanes of the city with no idea where they were headed. They ended up in Christianshavn, weaving through art galleries and secondhand bookstores. Daniel bought her a dog-eared poetry collection by Rupi Kaur because she'd stopped too long at one particular page.
"Is this your way of flirting?" she'd teased.
"No," he'd said. "This is my way of remembering what you care about."
Later that afternoon, they'd taken a boat tour not meant for tourists—one of the student-run harbor routes—and Claire had laughed until she cried when Daniel tried to pronounce the Danish street names along the canal. His accent was terrible. His confidence, endless.
By the third week, they were inseparable.
One rainy Sunday, Claire invited Daniel over to her dorm kitchen for a cooking challenge. They agreed to only use ingredients they had in their pantries. It turned into a messy, chaotic, flour-dusted disaster that ended in what could barely be described as edible pancakes because of Daniel.
"I think we invented a new kind of food," Daniel said, chewing cautiously.
Claire laughed. "Pancake-crackers?"
"Or... crisis cakes."
The apartment smelled like burnt sugar for days, but neither of them minded.
They talked about everything during their walks—books, cities they wanted to live in, childhood fears, exes, families.
Daniel told her about his brother Ryan, who was coming to visit soon.
"He's... different from me," Daniel had said. "More serious. Older. Protective."
Claire had smiled. "So the opposite of you, then?"
"Exactly," Daniel grinned.
Claire liked hearing about his family. It made her imagine being part of it. Not in a forever kind of way—yet—but in a way that said, this matters. You matter.
One night, they went to Tivoli Gardens, lit up in golden lights against the night sky.
They walked hand-in-hand through the crowd, eating caramelized almonds, trying out rides, watching fireworks explode above them in bursts of pink and silver.
Standing beneath the bright lights, Daniel leaned in and kissed her—soft, sure, slow.
Not the first kiss they'd shared, but the first one that made her feel like maybe something was shifting inside her.
Afterward, they stood silent for a moment.
"Do you believe in timing?" Claire asked.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "Like fate?"
She shook her head. "No, just… the idea that things don't work unless they happen at the right time."
He considered this.
"I believe in people making time for what matters," he said. "And you matter."
Claire didn't reply. She just pulled him into another kiss.
By the end of the month, their routines were tangled together.
Daniel would walk her to class before heading to his own. Claire started leaving her scarf at his hostel room on purpose, just so she'd have a reason to return. They studied in the same coffee shops, left post-it notes on each other's notebooks, and slowly started filling the quiet spaces with shared habits.
Claire didn't know what they were becoming yet. But she knew how it felt: natural, necessary, soft.
The kind of love that doesn't announce itself, but simply arrives—and stays.