It was a real kiss.
Liana
I couldn't stop smiling.
Not the kind of smile you do when someone tells a joke.
The quiet kind.
The kind that lingers even when you're alone.
Because tonight—he took me out.
Dinner. A movie.
Not like the usual stops for groceries or short walks when the air was nice.
This was different.
This was intentional.
He picked me up right on time.
Held the door open.
Made a reservation.
Asked if I wanted dessert.
It was a real date.
And I felt it.
In the way he looked at me across the table.
In the way he didn't let go of my hand the entire walk home.
Even in the way he stood just a little too close when we reached my door—like maybe he didn't want to say goodnight yet.
The wind was soft.
My cheeks were warm.
Not just from the cold.
He held my gaze.
And for a long moment, neither of us moved.
Then he asked, quietly, "Did you have a good time?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I did."
I hesitated, then added, "Thank you. For everything."
He took a step closer.
"I'm glad," he said.
And I felt it—the shift.
That pull in the air.
The pause in his breath.
I didn't mean to lean in.
But he was already there.
So close.
His fingers brushed mine.
I looked up.
His eyes searched mine like he was checking for permission.
And I gave it—
Not with words, but in the way I didn't look away.
He cupped my cheek gently.
His thumb brushed the edge of my jaw.
And then—
He kissed me.
Soft.
Steady.
Just a press of lips at first.
But then—
Then it deepened.
He tilted his head.
Moved closer.
And I melted into it.
Not because I knew what I was doing—
but because it was him.
Because it was right.
Because my whole world had been off-balance for years,
and somehow this—his mouth on mine, his hand on my waist—made it feel steady again.
When we finally pulled apart, I could barely breathe.
His forehead rested against mine.
His voice was low. "You're okay?"
I nodded, barely.
Then whispered, "I like it… when you hold me."
He inhaled sharply.
His hand on my waist gripped just a little tighter.
His voice roughened. "Liana—"
But he didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
Because the look in his eyes—like he was seeing me for the first time,
and wanting all of it—was enough.
He pulled me into a hug, this time tighter, deeper.
I buried my face in his chest.
His heartbeat was fast.
So was mine.
We stood like that for a while.
In the dark. On the doorstep.
And when he finally stepped back, he kissed my forehead.
"Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight," I whispered.
Then I slipped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it with my hands over my face.
I didn't sleep for hours.
Not because I was nervous—
But because I couldn't stop smiling.