Emerald Gaze, Silent Bloom

The glass chills against my skin, a small shock that doesn't quite reach the warmth spreading through me.
Rain streaks down the windowpane, mirroring the paths of longing I’ve traced on this city map – routes to nowhere, destinations invented solely for escape. He found me here, in the quiet corner of this cafe, tucked away from the relentless pulse of the streets.
His eyes, a shade darker than the matcha swirling within this glass, had held no judgment, only a slow burn that melted the frost I didn’t know clung to my soul. No grand gestures, just an invitation for silence shared over steaming cups and stolen glances.
He says he loves the way light catches in my hair when I least expect it. Such delicate observations. It's been so long since someone saw past the porcelain mask I wear for the world, a fragile shield against its harshness.
Now, with each passing moment, there’s a subtle shift – a loosening of control, a surrender to something feral and untamed that stirs within me. This isn’t just warmth; it's combustion. And I find myself wanting to burn.

Editor: Leather & Lace