“What if I love her?!” He exclaimed, finally exasperated from the entirety of our conversation.
There was a beat as I gradually recognized the weight in his question.
“Do you?” I asked, my voice squeaking in an accidental whisper.
My question hung in the night’s muggy air as he searched his heart for answers and his mind for words.
The humid air threatened to drown me and his next words had the potential to pierce my heart. Either way, I felt as if death were the best option for me in this moment.
He closed his eyes and gingerly slid his fingers over my forearm and gripped it gently. His teeth were clenched and his jaw was flexed in perfect form, threatening to cut stone with its handsomely-sharp edges.
He slowly pushed his breath out of his lungs and looked up. His gorgeous, light-brown eyes locked onto mine. The familiarity of his gentle gaze said more words than he was capable of speaking, but I could never quite put my finger on what it was he always tried to tell me.
But it seemed, if only for this moment, that maybe he loved me back.
