We closed the café together that night.
The air between us felt fragile—
full of words neither of us dared to say.
I handed him the mop.
He handed me the keys.
Our fingers brushed—
And everything stopped.
He didn't move his hand away.
Neither did I.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
"Don't look at me like that," he said softly.
"How am I looking at you?"
"Like you want something I shouldn't give."
His voice was ragged.
It felt like we were one breath away from breaking every rule.