The Way He Looks at Me - Part Two

I hadn’t seen anything yet.

I didn’t know then
how right those words would become.

Because after that night,
I began noticing the little things.

The almost-invisible things.

The way his eyes lingered
a second longer than they needed to.

The way our conversations
seemed to soften
whenever we were alone.

The way he looked at me
when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

I always noticed.

I just became very good
at pretending I didn’t.

That evening,
we sat across from each other,
talking about nothing important.

At least,
that’s what I told myself.

He was telling me a story,
and I was listening...

or trying to.

Because somewhere between his words,
I caught his eyes wandering.

From my eyes,

to my lips,

and back again.

He said nothing.

Neither did I.

But something shifted.

A silence slipped between us...

not the uncomfortable kind.

The kind that feels full.

Heavy with everything
neither person is brave enough to say.

The kind of silence
that makes you feel
something is about to happen,

and neither of you
wants to be the first
to admit you feel it too.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he said.

I smiled.

“So have you.”

He looked at me
for a moment longer.

Then he smiled too.

That smile.

The one that made me wonder
how long he had been thinking
about kissing me.

He leaned a little closer.

Not enough to touch.

Just enough
for me to notice.

My heart began beating harder,

and I hated the thought
that he could probably hear it.

“You know you do that, right?”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

His eyes never left mine.

“Like what?”

I swallowed.

“Like you want to say something.”

He smiled again.

“Maybe I do.”

“And?”

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at me.

Slowly.

Carefully.

As though his eyes were asking
a question his lips
weren’t ready to speak.

As though he was giving me
every possible chance
to move away.

I didn’t.

His hand found mine.

Barely.

Just the faintest brush
of his fingers against mine,

and somehow
that little touch

felt louder
than anything he could have said.

He waited.

I looked down
at our hands,

then back at him.

His thumb moved gently
across my knuckles.

Once.

Twice.

And suddenly,
the conversation disappeared.

I wasn’t thinking about
what we had been talking about.

I wasn’t thinking about
what time it was.

I wasn’t thinking about
what would happen next.

I was only thinking
about how close he was.

How close
was suddenly not close enough.

He leaned toward me again.

This time,

I didn’t look away.

His eyes fell to my lips.

Mine followed the same path.

For a moment,

neither of us moved.

Then, barely above a whisper,

he said,

“Tell me to stop.”

I didn’t.

And maybe
that was all the answer
he needed.

He closed the distance
between us slowly,

leaving me enough time
to change my mind.

I didn’t.

His lips met mine gently.

Almost cautiously.

And for one brief moment,

it was soft.

Sweet.

Almost innocent.

Until we pulled back
just enough to look at each other.

That look again.

Only this time,

I understood it.

He wasn’t just looking at me anymore.

He was waiting.

And suddenly,
I knew exactly
what he was waiting for.

I smiled.

Then leaned in first.

𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣...