What if, when you missed every chance to confess your feelings to him. After college, you suddenly lost contact and started your career, locking your love in your heart for years.
Then, one day, fate brought you both back together, meeting him as y...
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Feeling the urge to use the bathroom, I turned around but winced as I felt the stretch in my arm. It took me a few moments to adjust my vision to the dimly lit room. There he was, peacefully sleeping on the floor.
Memories flooded back as I recalled the two times before when he had slept in such an uncomfortable position, but this time seemed different. His arm must be hurting, I thought, as I noticed his hand awkwardly intertwined with mine over the edge of the bed.
How could he possibly sleep like that?
Our hands were sweaty, and I discovered that he had wrapped a soft silk satin fabric around our wrists, with a note attached.
A note? He's been obsessed with leaving notes lately!
Under different circumstances, I would have found these notes adorable and heartwarming. But now, it appears childish.
It reads— "Please don't go!"
I looked at his serene face. It must have been aching if he had been sleeping in this position for hours. His strong arm, which usually held me with such tenderness, lay awkwardly stretched out.
I reached over to the nightstand and picked up his phone to check the time. As I did, the screen lit up, revealing my picture as his wallpaper. It was a solo shot from our wedding day, capturing me in my bridal dress. I felt an overwhelming urge to see my wedding dress again. The time read 5:36 AM.
Carefully, I untied the knot of the fabric wrapped around our wrists. His body shifted slightly in response, his fingers twitching gently as if grasping for something familiar.
"Kiwi..." he murmured softly, his voice a mere whisper that made my heart ache. I gently placed his hand back on his chest, and he exhaled deeply, a pained expression fleeting across his face even in sleep.
I rose from the bed, the cool air hitting me and reminding me that I was wearing his clothes. The oversized fabric hung loosely on me. I panicked if we had done anything last night, but the sight of him sleeping like that made me believe we hadn't.
I rushed to the bathroom, the cold tiles against my feet grounding me in the moment. As I relieved myself, fragments of the night before began to surface. I brushed my teeth, and as the bristles scrubbed against my gums, for a split second, I saw myself, lost in a moment of pleasure from the night before.
The intensity of the image startled me, causing me to pause mid-brush. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to piece together the fragments of memory, the sensation of last night's passion, leaving me with confusion. I rinsed my mouth and stared at my reflection in the mirror, searching for answers in the tired eyes that stared back at me.
What —?
With a quick splash of water to my face, I felt a temporary coolness that did little to quell the rising heat of embarrassment. As I lifted my top, my hands trembled, and my breath caught in my throat. There they were—faint but unmistakable marks on my breast and navel, remnants of some drunken escapade.
