The hallway is narrow, but not so narrow that she has to brush against him. She tells herself it’s unavoidable, that she’s just passing by, but the truth is she leans closer on purpose. Her shoulder grazes his chest, her hip brushes his side, and she doesn’t hurry through. Instead, she slows her steps, pretending the space is tighter than it is, savoring the electricity that leaps through her body at the contact. The dim light only intensifies the illusion—they are caught in a world where shadows make excuses for desire.
He stiffens slightly at first, perhaps surprised, perhaps uncertain. But when she doesn’t step away, when she lets her body remain pressed against his, he doesn’t retreat. The heat of his body seeps through her clothes, steady and undeniable. Every inch of contact feels like a confession neither of them has spoken aloud. She could laugh it off, apologize for bumping into him, but instead, she lingers—long enough to make it clear that this is no accident. Her breath catches when his arm brushes hers in return, when the invisible line between them dissolves into a dangerous closeness.
By the time she slips past him, her body is already trembling. She knows he felt it too—the deliberate way she pressed, the lingering seconds of touch that said everything words couldn’t. The hallway becomes more than just a passage; it becomes their secret stage, a place where restraint crumbled in the span of a few stolen heartbeats. And as she glances back, the faintest smile curves her lips, silently daring him to remember that narrow space not as coincidence, but as invitation.