The Silence Between Two Pages

I can hear your heartbeat from three aisles away. Or perhaps it is mine, echoing against the mahogany shelves of this sanctuary where time forgets to move.
You think you are subtle—the way you linger by the poetry section for ten minutes too long just because I am standing here. You believe we are merely sharing a space in silence, but my skin knows better; every inch of me is humming with the static electricity between us.
I hold this book not to read it, but as an elegant shield—a paper curtain that allows me to watch you without being seen. I can see your eyes scanning for something that isn't a title or a chapter. You are searching for a crack in my composure.
So I let the silence stretch until it becomes heavy and sweet, like honey dripping from a spoon. I shift slightly, letting one shoulder slide free beneath the rust-colored fabric of my dress—a silent invitation, an unspoken question mark hanging in the air.
I won't look up yet. Not until you’ve walked three steps closer; not until your scent fills this narrow corridor and our breaths mingle without touching. The game is simple: I am waiting for the moment when curiosity outweighs caution. And as I peek over the edge of my cover, catching a glimpse of your hesitant smile... I know exactly when you're about to break.

Editor: Danger Zone