Her words carried boundaries: five minutes. No more, no less. A limit she drew to protect them both, to make the encounter sound harmless. But before the clock could even begin to matter, she reached for the switch, dimming the lights until the room softened into shadows. The glow fell away from the edges, leaving only the two of them caught in the muted warmth between light and dark. Her promise of time already felt like a lie.
He watched as she crossed the room and sat beside him, closer than necessary. Five minutes didn’t need this atmosphere. Five minutes didn’t need the hush of lowered lamps or the intimacy of a shared silence. It was more than convenience; it was intention. The way her body leaned just slightly toward his, the way her hand brushed the cushion between them before resting still—it was an invitation cloaked in restraint, a contradiction she didn’t try to resolve.
When their eyes finally met in the half-light, the truth became undeniable. The boundary she had set with her words had already been broken by her actions. She hadn’t asked him to leave yet; she hadn’t even looked at the clock. Instead, she had tilted the balance of the room, creating a space where time no longer mattered. And in that quiet, dimmed glow, he understood that five minutes was never meant to be the end—it was only the excuse to begin.