We were always one breath away from too much. There was a gravity between us, subtle but undeniable – like standing on the edge of something vast, knowing one more step would pull us under. We didn’t touch, not really. But the space between us pulsed with possibility. It was in the way he lingered a moment too long, in the way I caught my breath every time his voice softened around my name. We both felt it. The tension. The want. The fear.

Because this – whatever this was – wasn’t casual. It was heavy with meaning. Unspoken, unclaimed, but deeply felt. So we held the line. Out of caution. Out of timing. Out of the quiet knowing that once we gave in, there would be no going back. We kept our distance not because we didn’t care – but because we cared too much. Because some connections don’t settle gently into place. They collide. And we weren’t ready for the impact.

So we became experts at restraint. At pretending the pause between our words didn’t ache. At pretending the almost didn’t matter. But the truth is, it did. It always did.