The room was full of people, but in that moment, he only had eyes for her. She moved through the crowd with a quiet confidence, her presence like a magnetic force pulling him toward her. He had tried to convince himself that he wasn’t interested, that there was nothing more than a fleeting attraction between them. But the way she moved, the way she carried herself—it was impossible to ignore.
She was close now, within arm’s reach, and he could feel the heat of her body as she passed by him. It was subtle at first—a brush of her arm against his, a fleeting moment where the space between them seemed to shrink to nothing. He could have sworn it was accidental, just the casual contact of two people in a crowded room. But as she moved past him, her body lingering just a little longer than it should have, he began to doubt himself.
It wasn’t an accident. Not at all.
Her hip brushed against his side, just enough to send a jolt of heat through him, just enough to make him question everything. His breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat as his mind raced to catch up. He didn’t know whether to say something, to break the silence, or to let it linger, to let the tension build until it was impossible to ignore.
She didn’t stop, didn’t even look back, but there was something in the way she moved—something deliberate, something designed to make him question whether it was truly an accident. The way she brushed against him, the way her body fit so perfectly against his for that split second—it couldn’t have been unintentional.
He stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to think. Did she feel it too? Did she know the effect she had on him?
As the seconds stretched, he realized she was still moving, still walking away, and he found himself longing for her to stay, for her to turn around, to look back at him and give him some sign that this wasn’t just a game, that there was more to it.
He took a step toward her, almost instinctively, but then he hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to confront what was happening, if he was ready to dive into whatever this was. But the heat from her touch, the lingering memory of how close she had been to him, made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t just stand there. He needed to know if this was a game or if it was something real, something she was waiting for him to acknowledge.
But before he could take another step, she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd, leaving him with nothing but the memory of that brief, tantalizing touch.
It wasn’t an accident. He knew that now. And as he stood there, trying to regain control over his racing thoughts, he realized that whatever had just happened—whatever she had done—it had left him wanting more.