I was alone in the house that afternoon.
The silence didn't feel heavy this time—it felt like anticipation.
When the door opened, I flinched.
I recognized his steps. He wasn't in a hurry.
He stopped when he reached me.
There was only a breath of space between us.
"You didn't go out today," he said.
"I waited," I replied.
I didn't say for what. We both knew.
His gaze moved over me.
Not long—but deep.
As if weighing something.
"Don't come closer," he said quietly.
But he didn't step back.
My heart sped up.
I couldn't hide the warmth in my chest.
"If you want me to stop," I whispered,
"you should take a step back."
He smiled briefly.
It wasn't a calm smile.
"Don't expect that from me," he said.
He placed his hand on the edge of the table.
He didn't trap me…
but there was no escape.
His breath was close.
I felt his warmth against my skin.
"This isn't fair," he said,
anger in his voice—but not harsh.
"I'm not pushing," I replied.
"I'm here."
His fingers passed along my arm—
didn't touch.
But passed.
My body responded.
My heart beat faster.
He felt it.
I thought he would pull away—but I was wrong.
"One more second," he said,
"and I won't be able to turn back."
I lifted my head.
My eyes may have hesitated—my stance didn't.
I didn't say, Don't turn back.
But my look did.
For a moment…
everything went quiet.
Then he took a deep breath.
And stepped away.
"This," he said,
"is dangerous."
"I know," I replied.
"It's beautiful too."
His eyes darkened.
But this time, he didn't run.
He just stayed silent.
And in that silence…
I realized how close we truly were.