He walked away.
Just like that—after everything. After those words. After making me feel like maybe the universe was listening. He walked away.
But I didn't.
I sat there, still, like I was trying to memorize the way the bench felt beneath me, the way the light dimmed just enough to make the sky blush like lavender. Like if I moved, the moment would disappear, and I'd wake up in my same old life where I would just be bored all the time.
I wished he'd stayed.
Not because of how he looked though yeah, okay, the hoodie and messy hair combo was definitely a choice I wasn't mad about. But because... he listened. Really listened. Like my words weren't just words — they were stars I was handing him, and he actually looked up.
And then—just as my heart started curling into that soft ache—it happened.
"Hey—wait."
His voice.
I turned, my breath catching as I saw him backpedaling awkwardly, like he was trying not to seem like he ran back. he caught the breath and suddenly said:
"Wanna spend the night together?"
I WAS LIKE.
Excuse me? WHAT?
He blinked Realizing or maybe...processing? what he had said just now.
"I mean—not like that! I mean dinner! FOOD. You know, forks and spoons and awkward chewing."
While saying awkward chewing he did the dumbest, cutest thing I've ever seen.
He puffed his cheeks out like a cow chewing grass and made exaggerated munching noises.
I started laughing saying "I'm sorry. but i prefer buffaloes rather than a black cow."
I was still laughing stupidly — that unfiltered, real kind of laugh I hadn't heard from myself in a while.
He grinned asking "why prefer buffaloes more than handsome cows."
"I swear I'm not that bad looking. Am i?," he added.
"Sure you aren't, because i think buffaloes look more cute than cows." I teased, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear to keep from smiling too wide.
"So... dinner?" he asked, suddenly softer.
I looked up at the sky, still glowing like it was waiting for an answer too.
"I'd love to."
"Cool."
"Cool."
Why were we repeating words? Why was my heart acting like it was running a marathon?
I quickly pulled out my phone and messaged Mom:
"Hey mom, I'm with a friend from work. I'll be home late."
Then I glanced at Daniel — and took him in for real this time.
His hoodie was a deep navy blue, slightly oversized, sleeves pulled down to his knuckles.The drawstrings were uneven. His jeans were the kind of worn that said favorite, and his sneakers looked like they'd lived through a few stories. He had a band-aid on one finger — tiny detail, but somehow, it made him more real. More... reachable.
I looked down at myself.
White off-shoulder top, layered like I was trying to be petals in a flower. Tiny embroidered butterflies on the sleeves. My jeans were paint-splattered — leftovers from the bouquet prep earlier. I hadn't changed. I hadn't even thought about changing.
I looked back at him.
He looked back at me.
"Well," I said, standing and brushing invisible dust from my thighs, "our outfits aren't that bad for a last-minute dinner."
"I was going for 'emotionally chaotic poet'," he joked.
"Nailed it," I said, walking beside him.
As we reached the small gate near the sidewalk, he opened it for me.
And as I stepped through—our hands brushed.
Zing.
Not just butterflies.
A whole zoo.
Neither of us said anything.
But he looked down at his hand like he felt it too.
We walked toward the little diner down the street — the one with fairy lights and mismatched chairs and waiters who remembered your name if you came twice.
The evening stretched around us like soft fabric, and every step felt less like walking and more like floating. There was a little silence. The good kind. The kind that doesn't feel like you have to fill it because everything unsaid is already understood.
We talked about songs and stars, favorite colors and worst movies, why people cry when they're happy.
And somewhere in between all of that...
He reached across the table and picked a petal off my sleeve.
"Sorry," he said, "your butterfly was falling."
And I swear, just for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The diner smelled like cinnamon and stories. People laughed in soft corners. The fairy lights above us twinkled like they knew something we didn't.
We had just settled in, halfway through talking about how some songs feel like memories, when Daniel glanced down at his phone.
"Hey, give me a second?" he said, standing up. "Washroom."
"Sure," I nodded.
He walked away, his hoodie brushing the edge of my view.
And that's when I felt it.
That prickly feeling — like being watched. I tried to shake it off. Told myself it was nothing. But I could feel it.
I glanced sideways.
A man, probably in his forties, sitting a few tables over. He wasn't eating. Just... staring. Not blinking. Not subtle.
I shifted uncomfortably, tucking my hair behind my ear, glancing at the fairy lights, trying not to look like I noticed.
But then—
"Marie."
My heart jumped.
Daniel was back.
Only—he didn't sit.
He leaned down.
And before I could even ask him what was wrong—
He kissed me.
Soft. Sudden. Right on the lips.
I froze.
Then blinked.
Then—
Laughed.
A quiet, breathless laugh, like we were kids pretending in front of an audience.
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, and whispered against my cheek:
"He's watching you. I had to make it look like we were together."
My heart thundered.
Not from fear.
From him.
"Oh," I managed.
He took his seat beside me, not across from me anymore. His hand found mine under the table and didn't let go.
The man was still there. Still watching.
But Daniel didn't even glance at him again.
Instead, he looked at me.
Just me.
Like nothing else in that room existed.
"Let's order something light," he said casually.
"Mocktails?" I suggested.
"Perfect."
We sipped mango-lime mocktails like we weren't shaken. Like we hadn't just kissed for the first time in front of a stranger with eyes too sharp.
But his hand never left mine.
And every time I glanced at him, he was already watching me — steady and calm, like his eyes were saying:
"Don't worry. I'm here. I've got you."
I squeezed his fingers once, gently.
He squeezed back.
And when the man finally left, I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath the whole time.
The check came. We paid.
Outside, the night had turned velvet-dark. The street was quiet except for a flickering lamppost and a cat slipping into an alley.
We started walking, but I paused.
Daniel turned.
"Everything okay?"
I didn't answer.
I just stepped forward.
Grabbed his hoodie.
Pulled him into the shadow of the building.
And kissed him.
Not soft.
Not scared.
Like I had just realized what it meant to be seen. To be protected. To be wanted.
I kissed him like the stars above us weren't just watching — they were cheering.
His back pressed lightly against the wall, and for the first time all night, he was the one stunned into silence.
When I pulled away, my cheeks were on fire, but I whispered anyway:
"That one wasn't pretending."
He smiled — slow, heart-melting, completely smitten.
And for a second, we just stood there.
A girl who sells bouquets for the sky.
A boy with messy hair and quiet music in his bones.
And something between us that felt like fate wearing a hoodie.
I had just kissed him.
Pressed him to the wall and poured all my chaos into that one bold move.
And when I stepped back — cheeks blazing, breath quick — he didn't say a word.
Not at first.
He just stared at me like I'd rewritten his favorite song.
Then he chuckled, low and breathless.
"You caught me."
"Caught you?" I asked, slightly confused.
He leaned in. The air between us turned electric.
"Yeah," he whispered near my ear, "I was trying so hard to play it cool."
His breath brushed my neck.
"Was gonna walk you home and maybe text you goodnight like a gentleman... But you?"
His hand came up — fingers gently tilting my chin.
"You just broke every rule I made in my head about you."
I blinked, my heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to answer him before I could.
"Rules?" I echoed.
"Yeah," he murmured, eyes locked with mine, nose inches away, "Like: Don't fall too fast. Don't look at her like she's magic. And definitely don't imagine what her lips would taste like until the third date."
My breath hitched.
And then—
He kissed me.
Again.
But this time, it was nothing like the kiss before.
This kiss was a thousand words without sound.
It was his hoodie brushing my shoulders.
His hands anchoring around my waist, slowly — like asking permission.
My fingers curling into his hair without thinking.
It was slow. Deep. Like falling and flying all at once.
The world disappeared — no alley, no streetlight, no time.
Just the quiet sound of our lips meeting, over and over again.
A heartbeat pause.
Another kiss.
The kind where noses nudge and laughter slips in between because neither of us could believe it was really happening.
"You taste like mango," he whispered against my mouth.
"You talk too much," I whispered back.
We both smiled — still kissing.
His thumb brushed my jaw. My hand rested over his chest, feeling his heartbeat mirror mine.
We stopped only when a gust of wind reminded us where we were.
But even then, he didn't let go.
"You really just kissed me against a wall," he said, almost dazed.
"You really kissed me back," I said, trying not to grin too much.
"I'm in so much trouble now," he whispered, forehead resting against mine.
"Why?"
"Because now I want to keep kissing you. And I don't think the universe is gonna stop me."
I looked up at the sky, a thousand stars above, still spinning.
And for once, I wasn't wondering if they could see me.
Because maybe...
they were too busy watching us.
*○*