Chapter 11 — When Hands Almost Touch
Mara didn't know why her palms were clammy. She had met strangers before, had worked with people, but something about Milo was different. Not dangerous — no, not that — but something quietly unsettling, like standing near a candle flame and realizing it could warm you or burn you.
They walked side by side under the drizzle, umbrellas barely touching, shoulders brushing sometimes, sending shivers neither dared name. Milo's presence was calm but insistent, like a current tugging gently at her.
"You talk a lot on the screen," she said, teasing, trying to mask the thrum in her chest.
"I do?" he asked, almost sheepishly. "I guess I feel… safer when I write."
"Safer?" she echoed, her voice softer than intended.
He nodded, looking at her like she was a secret he had been allowed to hold. "I feel safe with you."
Mara's breath hitched. That word… safe. It had been foreign to her for years. And yet, here he was, offering it freely, without demand or expectation.
"I… I'm not sure I know what that means," she admitted.
"You'll learn," he said quietly, almost a whisper, eyes holding hers. "I'll show you."
Something flickered between them, unspoken and heavy. Mara realized she wanted him to. Not out of obligation, not out of duty, but because her chest ached when he wasn't near.
A small puddle reflected the streetlight, and their shadows merged briefly. She noticed the heat rising in her cheeks, the way her hands fidgeted with the strap of her bag. Milo noticed, too — and didn't look away.
"Can I…?" he started, then hesitated, hands hovering awkwardly.
"Can you what?" Mara asked, pulse quickening.
He swallowed. "Can I hold your hand? Just for a moment?"
Her heart tripped, a sudden, chaotic rhythm. It wasn't like she had never held hands — but she had never held hands with someone whose words had quietly stitched themselves into her chest.
She nodded before she could think better of it.
His hand brushed hers, light, tentative, and her breath caught. That single touch — almost nothing, almost everything — made the world feel smaller, warmer. Mara's heart whispered a question she wasn't ready to voice: Could she let herself want this?
They walked a little further, hands still brushing, neither daring to let go, the silence between them speaking louder than the rain.
And in that quiet, fragile space, romance didn't roar or explode. It lingered, slow, dangerous, and beautiful — the kind that promised everything without saying a word.