He had promised himself distance. He had drawn that line carefully, determined not to cross it again. Her presence alone was enough to test him, and he believed he had learned his lesson. He told himself his hands would stay at his sides, his restraint unshaken. But promises unravel quickly in the dark, especially when shadows betray more than words ever do.
Her body remained where it was, yet the light cast her image forward, closer, reaching for him in silence. The shadow bridged the space before she dared to, sliding across the floor, brushing against his own as if it had made a choice without her. He froze, unable to decide if it was chance or something more deliberate, but the pull of it worked its way under his resolve. Shadows, after all, don’t lie—they only reveal what the body secretly leans toward.
By the time her frame shifted slightly, just enough to close the smallest gap, his vow felt like a fragile thing—already cracked, already failing. He hadn’t touched her yet, but he already felt touched. Sometimes it isn’t the body that moves first—it’s the space between, reaching before either of them dares to.