The firelight danced across his face, illuminating the sharp contours of his features. His deep-set eyes locked onto mine, brimming with unsaid feelings.
"Try me," he said, his voice steady, firm, and layered with unspoken promises-a vow to offer me shelter if only I'd let him in.
Looking into those warm embers, a bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. He was holding onto a fantasy he refused to let go of. But I wasn't going to be his "fix a broken heart" trope, nor was I looking for a "love will change me" story arc.
How on earth did I end up in this cliché? A tearful, dramatic love confession under the night sky-the kind written for movie protagonists and their star-crossed love interests. He was just a colleague from work who had eventually sprouted like a weed in my friend group, brought in by a mutual friend who once warned me to go easy on him because of how blindly he indulged my every demand.
Looking back, the signs were all there: the way he looked at me, his hyper-attentive behavior, and the overprotective, jealous edge he couldn't quite hide. I had sensed it early on. But instead of confronting him directly, I simply treated him with cold aversion, assuming my clear boundaries would be enough to snuff out whatever spark he had. Yet somehow, despite every cold shoulder and guarded look I threw his way, his feelings only bloomed-forcing us both into this very moment.
I didn't hate love. I wasn't bitter, and I didn't have some tragic, traumatic backstory that made me turn my back on romance. The truth was far simpler: I was emotionally unavailable. I had goals to conquer, milestones to reach, and a strict timeline to follow. To me, love wasn't a journey-it was a trophy. A reward waiting for me at the finish line, but only after I achieved everything on my list.
"Give me a year," he said, snapping me back to reality. He held my gaze and faced me completely, his eyes unwavering and true. "Give me your heart for a year. I won't expect anything from you, and I will gladly accept whatever you offer-even if it's the absolute bare minimum. Just be with me. If a year passes and your heart hasn't changed, we'll end it-no bitterness, no hatred. Just give me a chance."
With quiet determination, he reached out and took both of my hands, holding them gently, as if grabbing onto me was the salvation he had been searching for.
I should have refused. I wanted to completely crush the hope burning inside him-to shatter the fantasy of "us" before it even started. But as I looked at him, a wave of pity washed over me. I saw the vision he was desperately clinging to: a love that was warm against the rainy season, steady amidst the chaos, generous without expectations, and strong enough to carry every doubt.
It was the exact love I used to dream about-the kind I wrote on childhood wishlist papers I had long since buried.
Maybe, just for once, I could try.
"Please," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly around my fingers-a silent plea directed straight at my heart.
I met his gaze, letting the silence stretch between us before uttering the terms of my surrender.
"Then accept whatever little I can give."
A soft, breathless grin broke across his face, followed by a heavy sigh of relief.
That was our beginning-a chapter I had once dreaded because it was never on my list of goals. He promised a love I agreed to accept, fully aware that in the end, this relationship would break him.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Cuel Relief
Romance"I tried," she said, looking up as tears streaked down her face. "I know," he whispered. Taking in her pain, he gently brushed away her tears-wiping away her hurt, even while carrying a deeper wound of his own. "I'm tired," she murmured, locking...
