When his lips touched mine, I felt something warm flow inside me, something unlike anything I'd ever known.
At first, it was light, hesitant, as if we were both afraid of upsetting this delicate balance. But with each passing second, that apprehension melted away, and the kiss transformed into something deeper, more genuine. His hand, which had lingered at my waist, finally settled, gently pulling me closer, as if afraid I'd vanish if he let go. And I found myself clinging to him unconsciously, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if searching for certainty amidst this torrent of emotions.
And when we pulled away, it wasn't a complete separation. Our foreheads remained touching, our breaths mingling, our eyes darting about, then meeting again each time. There was something different in his gaze—something clearer, bolder, as if he'd finally decided to say what he'd been hiding. He smiled faintly, a smile that extended beyond his lips to his eyes, then ran his thumb along my cheek as if to confirm that I was real.
We didn't speak immediately. There was no need for words. The silence between us wasn't empty; it was filled with everything that had happened moments before. But after a while, he moved closer, not to kiss me this time, but to rest his forehead on my shoulder, as if he were finding rest in that moment, just as I was.
"Are you alright?" he whispered, his voice tinged with concern and, more importantly, tenderness.
I nodded, but I didn't pull away. On the contrary, I slowly raised my hand and placed it behind his neck, pulling him closer, as if to answer him without words: Yes, even better than before.
He chuckled softly, that small laugh that was less heard than felt. Then he raised his head slightly, looking at me again, and this time there was no distance or hesitation. He wasn't seeking permission, but confirmation of what had become clear between us.
He told me shyly that I looked like an angel.
My diary now looks like a romance novel, but that's really what happened.
I told him, in my shyness, that the soup would get cold.
"Really? That's the first thing you're going to say?" he asked.
"I don't know what to do, so I'll eat," I said, and smiled at him.
We sat together talking, and then I told him to take me to the hospital after we ate because I had a shift in an hour.
He said he also had a shift at the same time.
After we finished eating and our brief conversation,
we left the room with hesitant steps, but our hands were tightly clasped, as if each of us was afraid the other would let go if we loosened our grip even slightly. Silence hung between us, but it wasn't entirely comfortable; it was filled with those beautiful tensions that follow unforgettable moments. When we reached the elevator, Michael pressed the button without looking at me, as if trying to appear normal… but he wasn't.
As soon as the door opened and we found no one inside, everything changed in an instant. He pulled me inside quickly, as if the opportunity couldn't be missed, and closed the door behind us before I could even process what was happening. The next moment, he was so close… closer than he should have been, closer than logic allowed.
He didn't give me time to think.
His lips found mine again, this time without hesitation, without that initial fear. It was a quick, fiery kiss, carrying everything that had been left unsaid. I felt my breath catch, and my hand, which had been holding his, tightened unconsciously, as if trying to grasp the moment before it slipped away.
But just as suddenly as it had begun… it stopped.
A soft sound, then a slight jolt—the elevator had arrived.
He pulled away quickly, as if nothing had happened, and released me just in time before the doors opened. Another person entered, not giving us much thought, while I tried to catch my breath as if something inside me had been exposed without permission. He, however, simply… took my hand again.
As if what had happened moments before wasn't enough.
We stood in silence until we reached the ground floor, neither of us saying a word. But his hand wouldn't let go of mine, and I didn't try to pull it away.
When we finally got out and headed for the car, I couldn't contain myself any longer.
"That was... so awkward," I said, avoiding his gaze, my face burning despite my attempts to remain calm.
He looked at me, then smiled with that provocative simplicity, as if it meant nothing.
"I don't care."
He said it as if the whole world could see... and nothing would change.
For some reason I couldn't understand, I couldn't get angry.
The drive was quiet and pleasant, and after a moment of silence, I gestured gently and said,
"Could you park a little further away from the parking space?"
I didn't look directly at him, but I knew exactly why I was asking... It wasn't genuine fear, but a mixture of embarrassment and a desire to keep our relationship private, out of sight of others. I thought—or perhaps I convinced myself—that he might prefer the same.
But he didn't slow down.
On the contrary, he smiled slightly, as if my request didn't make sense to him, then said calmly and clearly,
"No…"
I turned to him then, not with complete surprise, but with something closer to anticipation. I couldn't tell if he was joking or serious, but he continued without leaving me wondering for long:
"I want our relationship to be public."
His words were simple, but they resonated with a pleasant weight inside me, as if they had found a place they'd been searching for all along. For a moment, I felt exposed… not to other people, but to myself. Because, despite all my hesitation, I didn't want to keep it a secret.
I was just… afraid that he was the one who wanted it that way.
And when he finally parked the car in its usual spot, I didn't ask him to change his mind again.
Instead, I opened the door… feeling that this time, I wasn't hiding anymore.
He parked, and we went into the hospital. We said goodbye, and that was the end of an encounter that had started badly but ended in a beautiful relationship.