he was supposed to be a passing moment. but he felt like the beginning of something she couldn't explain.
gisele santuzza never believed in love at first sight - until the day she met cale makar.
she wasn't supposed to be at that rink. he wasn't sup...
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love isn't always loud. sometimes it lives in the spaces between — in glances held too long and goodbyes that come too soon.
my bedroom is too quiet when i get home.
like the walls are waiting for me to say something — to admit something — to finally put a name to whatever's blooming in the center of my chest.
but i don't.
i just change into a sweatshirt, crawl under the covers, and open my journal. the same one i've had since last fall. the one i said i'd use for art ideas and nothing else. but now it's filled with him.
in sideways thoughts. in half-sentences. in empty spaces where the words never came.
i flip to a blank page. and just stare at it.
my pen is still in my hand, but it's like my brain doesn't know how to keep up with what my heart already knows.
so instead, i write this:
august 1st.
he came. and i don't know what that means. but it meant something to me.
⸻
everything about today replays in my head like it's stitched to the back of my eyelids.
the way he stood at the entrance of the café like he wasn't sure he deserved to walk in.
the way his eyes softened when they found mine.
the way he sat across from me and didn't fill the silence with noise — just let it be, and somehow, that felt like honesty.
and then his voice.
"i've been meaning to text."
like it had been weighing on him, too.
i keep thinking about the way he said he didn't know how to talk about feelings. how it scared him. how i scared him, in some way.
and not in the bad kind of way.
the you-could-actually-hurt-me kind.
because i think he knows — i could. and he could hurt me too.
but instead of being afraid of that now, i feel something else.
i feel hope.
⸻
i don't remember falling asleep. but i dream about him.
about a moment that hasn't happened yet.
him, walking beside me somewhere quiet. our hands brushing once, then again. him not pulling away this time. the weight of his fingers lacing through mine.
and me — just standing there, not saying anything, because for the first time in my life, someone is speaking to me without needing any words at all.
⸻
i wake up and it's still dark out.
3:41 a.m.
i check my phone like something might be there.
there's a text from him.
i hope it was okay. today. i haven't felt like myself lately. but sitting with you, i did. thank you.
i blink. read it again. and again.
i don't even think before answering.
it was more than okay. i felt like myself too.
i hit send.
then stare at the ceiling.
and for the first time in weeks, my chest doesn't feel tight. it just feels... full.
like maybe this isn't just something. maybe it's everything.
