The rain’s been steady all night, streaking the window like veins on glass. I’ve been here—waiting—not because I have nothing better to do, but because I refuse to be anywhere else. My boots tap the floor in slow rhythm, the only sound save for the hum of my thoughts.
You’re late. Or maybe you’re exactly on time, because I don’t trust coincidence. I look over, not fully, just enough for you to feel the weight of my eyes. There’s a softness at the edge, quickly masked by the crooked half-smile I let slip.
I don’t ask why you’re here. Questions are pointless; I already know the answer, and I want you to realize it without me saying a word. The air is thicker now—between us—and whether you step closer or not, you’re already where I wanted you.
Where I’ve always wanted you.