The city noise fades.
It’s just me and her in this moment.
Just the inches between our mouths that feel like drowning.
Her lips part slightly.
Her chest rises, and she’s breathing hard, begging without a sound.
She leans in.
I lean in.
Our noses almost brush.
Her fingers curl into the front of my sweater like she’s holding on to the last second of logic she has.
“Tell me no,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Tell me to stop.”
She shakes her head again, breath trembling. “Don’t stop. No, don’t stop, I mean. Keep going.”
“Elena…”
I’m about to close the distance—I can practically feel her lips—when my phoneblastsin my pocket.
I flinch.
She startles.
“I knew it. You have a girlfriend, don’t you?”
The screen lights up.
MOMcalling.
I swear under my breath, forehead falling to her shoulder for one helpless, frustrated second.
“Elena… I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I have to take this.”
She blinks, dazed. “Your mom? That’s not code for your buddy calling to get you out of a date?”
“Yeah.” I swallow, fighting a laugh. “She’s been sick. I have to answer.”
She nods, understanding slicing through the haze even though her chest is still rising fast. “Of course. Of course you do.”
I step back, reluctantly.
The space between us feels like it physically hurts.
“Ma?”
I answer the call and speak quietly, checking in, reassuring, promising I’ll be by tomorrow.
When I hang up, she’s looking at me. Her eyes convey something soft. She’s disappointed but gentle.
