Sweet little moment 🍓 Just me, some strawberries, and a cozy café vibe. Who else is craving a little sugar today? 💕

“The Strawberry Kiss”

First person: I.

They called it romance.
But that’s just what they say when you’re bleeding out of your own mouth.

He kissed me like he’d never seen my face before — slow, heavy, as if he were tasting something new… but not sweet. Not real. Like sugar wrapped around a knife blade.

His hand? On my shoulder. His eyes? Locked onto mine like we both knew how far down this road was going to lead us…

And then came the strawberries.

Three perfect red jewels sitting right there on our table between us — sliced open with such care, so tempting...

That one slice? It wasn’t for dessert. That was his secret weapon.

I didn't even notice until after the kiss ended. The way he pulled back... too fast?

No. He moved faster than any other man ever had.

My fingers curled into fists behind the plate. My pulse hammered against my throat.

Because no matter how hard I tried to forget him—

There she was again, standing at the edge of the room, watching through glassy eyes filled only with suspicion.

Her lips parted slightly, almost whispering:

“You know better.”

What did I do wrong today?

Why does every time someone touches me close enough—I feel their shadow slipping beneath my skin?

This isn't love anymore.

It's betrayal dressed up as sweetness.

One bite from those berries could kill me—or make me remember why I left everything else behind.

Let them think I’m weak because I let myself believe maybe…just maybe…he still loved me.

But here’s the truth?

If I don’t break free now, I’ll die trying to hold on to someone who already forgot how much pain he gave me.

Strawberries aren't safe.

Not unless you're ready to bleed yourself dry.

I stare across the counter.
She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just watches me drink coffee while pretending nothing happened tonight.

I swear I saw her smile once last night under dim lights outside the café window. But now? She looks cold—and dangerous—as though she knows exactly where all these secrets live inside each berry.

I won’t tell anyone about the lipstick stain or the trembling hands holding my wrist tight during dinner talk. No one will understand—not yet anyway.

Unless tomorrow morning finds me dead beside the shattered mirror next door?

Wait till Monday comes round again—you'll see who really owns my heart first.

Until then?

Just keep biting off pieces slowly, darling. One strawberry at a time.

Even if it kills me eventually.

(END)

(Scent of burnt caramel & blood mixed together – whispered breaths echo faintly nearby.)

Next Chapter: “The Mirror Breaker.”