I don't know what possessed me. Maybe it was the storm. Or the flickering candlelight casting twisted shadows on the cottage walls.
But as the rain clawed at the windows and thunder rolled over the sea like the growl of something ancient, I opened the notebook.
The pages were blank, but they didn't feel empty.
And so I wrote.
"He steps closer, eyes molten. The air between us pulls taut like string. 'Say it,' he whispers, 'that you feel it too.'"
I paused, my fingers trembling just a little. The sound of Lena laughing in the other room was muffled by the storm.
I bit my lip, heat rushing up my chest. What was I doing?
I kept writing.
"I don't answer. He cups my cheek. His thumb brushes just below my lips. My heart is racing. My breath stutters. His lips crash into mine''
I stopped.
I stared at the page.
I swallowed.
Why did it feel like I had just lived that? Like his mouth had actually touched mine, like my pulse had actually skipped?
The cottage creaked. A branch hit the roof.
I shut the notebook fast and pushed it away. The storm outside was wild now. I blew out the candle and slid under the covers, my heart still hammering.
It's just a fantasy. I made it up.
I must've fallen asleep. Or slipped into something else.
Because suddenly, I wasn't in the bed anymore. I was standing on the beach again, barefoot, the moon overhead dripping silver on the waves.
The sand was soft and cool between my toes.
Someone stood in the surf.
Milo.
Shirt undone. Hair damp. Chest rising and falling like he had just been running.
His eyes locked with mine, gold-flecked and wide with emotion.
"You wrote this," he said.
"What?"
"You wrote me into this moment." He took a step toward me. "Didn't you?"
I shook my head, but I couldn't lie. Not here. Wherever here was.
"I didn't mean to," I whispered.
His hand touched mine. Fingers sliding between fingers.
The ocean sang behind us.
"Then write it right," he said, pulling me into him.
And he kissed me.
And it was every version of the kiss I had never dared dream. His lips soft but hungry, like he had waited lifetimes for it. His hands tracing my back. His body pressing against mine. I melted into him like I had always belonged there.
The sky flashed.
Thunder cracked.
A symbol, glowing red, lit up the sand beneath us etched in fire, spinning in a circle.
I woke with a gasp.
The candle was out. The storm gone. The silence was loud.
My sheets were damp with sweat. My pulse thrummed like a drum.
And on the desk across the room, the notebook glowed faintly.
A swirling symbol burned into the cover one I hadn't seen before. One I knew I hadn't drawn.
And somehow, I already knew:
What I wrote… was no longer just fiction.