The Distance Between Two Heartbeats

I can still feel the cool air of the corridor pressing against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat blooming in my chest. I didn't look back—not once—because if I had, I might have lost my nerve.
He was standing by his locker when I passed him for the third time this week. No words were exchanged; only a brief, steady gaze that seemed to read every unwritten page of my soul. There is an intimacy in silence that speaks louder than any confession—a kind of understanding where breath slows and timing becomes everything.
I run now, not away from him, but toward the possibility of us. My skirt flutters against my thighs with each stride, a rhythmic echo to the sudden urgency of my heart. I know he is watching me leave; I can almost feel his eyes on the curve of my back and the sway of my hair.
It is enough for now—this tension, this distance measured not in meters but in stolen glances. Let us linger here, at the threshold of something beautiful, until we are both brave enough to close the gap.

Editor: Grace