At some point during the second episode, I realize that Raj’s leg has brushed up against mine, but I actually don’t feel weird about it. The adrenaline rush from the surprise party is tapering off, and I just want to relax. I slouch down so my head rests against the back of the couch. A few minutes later, I shift in my seat to get more comfortable and find my head leaning against Raj’s shoulder. Neither of us flinches. I wonder if he cares—but if he did, wouldn’t he move?

There’s a third episode, and maybe a fourth, and then I lose track of what happens next. It must be midnight. Raj’s arm slips around my shoulders. I shift on the couch to curl up with my head on his chest. The last thing I remember before drifting off to sleep is how easy it is to lie in his arms.

The next thing I know, a hand is stroking my hair. Last night floods back to me: Raj threw me a surprise party on the roof of Golden Years. He walked me home and we put on The Office. And that means . . . that means we’re still curled up on the couch together. That hand in my hair? It’s his. Not Blake’s. Raj’s.

I’d be lying if I said I was totally clueless that he might be into me. The signs are all there: he sends me free drinks; he usually texts me first; he goes above and beyond what a casual friend might do (hello, that surprise party). Even though that all seems glaringly obvious in the morning light, with his fingers gently smoothing down my hair, they were easy to push aside until now. I had my sights set on Blake. I had a boyfriend. Nothing could have happened between me and Raj, so I never bothered to address the chemistry between us.

But now that I’ve fallen asleep in his arms, I can’t ignore it. The seamless way we slipped into instant banter the first time we met? You can’t fake that. And I’ve been on enough dates in the past decade to know that the way he makes me laugh is truly rare. With Raj, there are never any awkward silences or boring lulls. We don’t make conversation—we just talk. Often. Easily. I like his warm, brown eyes and wide smile. I’ve definitely had some lingering thoughts about the way his forearms look when he pushes his sleeves up.

The sound of his voice makes my heart race.

“Hey, you awake?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, sitting up.