The next few days, he kept a strange distance from me.
Not cold.
Not rude.
Just… careful.
He still talked to me.
Still remembered my drinks.
Still watched me in quiet, subtle glances.
But the space between us felt different—
like he was trying to draw a line only he could see.
One afternoon, I finally asked:
"Did I do something wrong?"
He froze.
Then shook his head.
"No," he said softly.
"You're just… dangerous."
My heart skipped.
"For who?"
His jaw tightened.
"For me."