She notices it every time—how the gold band catches the light when he gestures, how it reminds her that he belongs to someone else. She should look away, should remind herself that this boundary is not hers to cross. But instead, the sight of that ring makes her heart beat faster. It confirms that he is wanted, chosen, claimed—and that somehow makes her want him more.
When he stands close, she finds herself leaning, bending toward him without meaning to. His presence commands her body before her mind has time to resist. She tilts her head when he speaks, lets her voice soften when she answers, and every small movement betrays her longing. The ring is not a stop sign—it is a symbol of danger, of the sweetness of what she should not touch.
And so, when he places his hand lightly on her back, she doesn’t pull away. She allows herself to bend, to give in to the gravity between them. In that surrender, she feels both guilty and exhilarated, as if every stolen breath is proof that she has crossed into a world she shouldn’t—but can no longer resist.