That Quiet Kiss
It wasn’t planned — nothing that real ever is. The night was silent, the air faintly cold, carrying the scent of rain that never fell. We weren’t saying much; words would have ruined it. She looked at me — not the way people look when they’re curious, but the way they do when they’ve already decided to remember something forever.
Her eyes held a thousand untold things — pain, longing, and that soft hesitation that only happens right before surrender. I didn’t move first; neither did she. The world just… slowed down until even our breaths sounded like whispers against time.
Then it happened — that quiet kiss. No rush, no fire. Just warmth — deep enough to make the stars blink slower, real enough to make every noise fade.
It wasn’t about lips meeting; it was about hearts finally finding a pause. For a second, everything made sense — the waiting, the distance, the ache. Her touch didn’t burn; it healed.
And yet, it left a mark. A pulse that still screams her name in silence. A memory that feels louder than sound. My pulse is still learning her rhythm — even now, long after she’s gone.