Chromatic Bloom

The coffee was lukewarm, exactly how I liked it—a small comfort against the relentless grey of the city. Then he walked in. Not a dramatic entrance; just…there. And suddenly my pulse jumped from its usual steady hum to a frantic hummingbird wingbeat. It’s irrational. A week ago, 'comfort' meant a good book and a quiet corner. Now it's him, leaning against the counter, sunlight catching the edge of his smile.
My skin prickled with an almost electric warmth—not uncomfortable, but like coming in from the cold after forever. Blood rushing to my cheeks felt like a blush blooming under the surface. He ordered black coffee, just like me. Simple detail. Big deal. My breath hitched when he glanced over, his eyes lingering for a beat too long.
It's been years since something felt this...vibrating in its core. Like the city noise faded to background hum as all senses focused on him - taste of coffee becoming richer, subtle scent of rain and sandalwood coming off of him. Almost painful in its intensity. He didn’t say anything fancy, just ‘nice day’, but my heart did a flip-flop like a clumsy fish out of water. I hope this isn' a fluke, a temporary tremor. Because the steady hum is nice, but this...this feels like home.

Editor: Heartbeat Monitor