They didn’t touch.
Not at first.
The room was warm, dimly lit by a single lamp that softened everything it reached—her shoulder, the edge of the glass in her hand, the quiet way she stood just a little too close.
He noticed it before she did.
Or maybe she noticed first and chose not to move.
There’s a particular kind of silence that exists between two people when something is about to happen. Not awkward. Not empty.
Intentional.
She turned slightly, enough that her breath shifted toward him. Enough that he could feel it without looking directly at her.
“You’re thinking about it too,” she said.
He didn’t answer.
He stepped closer.
And suddenly, the space between them didn’t feel like distance.
It felt like the only thing left.