The Threshold of Us

I stand at the edge, my breath hitching in time with the rhythmic hum of the city. The train car is a sterile capsule of steel and glass, but between me and you—just across this narrow threshold—lies an ocean of unspoken words.
I can feel your eyes on me; they are heavy, warm, tracing the line of my shoulder beneath this oversized coat as if memorizing every stitch for future reference. It is a gaze that doesn't just see me, but claims me in silence. I don’t look back yet—not because I am afraid, but because the anticipation is far more intoxicating than any answer.
The breeze catches my hair, whipping strands across my face like secrets whispered by the wind. In this fleeting moment between departures and arrivals, time stretches thin until it nearly snaps under the weight of our mutual longing.
I take a single step forward onto the platform—my loafers clicking softly against concrete—and for one heartbeat longer I let you watch me leave. Only when the distance becomes unbearable do I glance over my shoulder with a slow, deliberate smile that promises everything and reveals nothing. Come find me in this neon wilderness; I’ve already left a trail of warmth just for you.

Editor: Monica