The night was quiet, the house silent except for the ticking of my old wall clock. My phone buzzed again — his name lighting up the screen:
Hey… you awake?
I smiled, hiding under my blanket so my mother wouldn't see. Always so careful, Splendour, I thought. But the truth? I didn't mind being careful when it meant I got to hear him.
Yes… I typed.
Couldn't sleep.
He replied almost instantly:
Me neither. Maybe it's us?
I laughed quietly, my heart softening. It had to be him. It had to be.
Lunch together had been a few days ago, but it still lingered in my mind like a sweet melody. The way he watched me, laughed at my jokes, and spoke like he genuinely cared about the small things — it left a warmth I couldn't explain.
Now, with each message and call, it was building, little by little, like coals turning into fire.
Can we meet tomorrow? Just for a while…
I hesitated. My mother was strict, always watching, always asking questions. But the pull I felt toward him was stronger than my caution.
Okay… I typed
The next afternoon, we met at the little park again. The sun hung low, painting everything gold, the air smelling faintly of wet grass from the morning dew. I saw him waiting by our usual bench, a small smile on his lips.
"Hey," I said softly.
"Hey," he replied, but his eyes lingered on me longer than before. There was a softness, but also a kind of longing I hadn't seen yet.
We talked for hours, about dreams, music, silly childhood stories, nothing really important — yet everything mattered. Each laugh, each shared secret, drew us closer.
At one point, our hands brushed — light, accidental — and I felt a spark that made my chest tighten. My heart raced, and when I looked up, he was watching me, eyes warm and steady.
"I can't stop looking at you," he whispered.
My breath hitched. "Alfred…"
And then, without another word, he leaned closer. My heartbeat thundered as our lips met soft at first, testing, careful. But the moment deepened naturally, like the world had shrunk around us and nothing existed except this connection, this fire.
It wasn't hurried. It wasn't desperate. It was real, a kiss that said everything neither of us had spoken yet.
Later that night, lying in my bed, my phone buzzed again.
Goodnight, Splendour. Dream of me.
Always… I typed back, my fingers trembling.
And for the first time, I understood what it meant to feel truly alive — to feel fire and warmth all at once, knowing it could change you forever.
I was falling, slowly, completely… and I didn't want to stop.