I didn't expect him to be standing in my living room that day.
He was just a visitor—there to see my brother's friend.
But the moment I saw him, something shifted.
He looked at me, smiled, just a little, and nodded like we already knew each other.
I didn't say much. Neither did he.
But my heart had already taken a mental snapshot of him, framed and glowing.
Later that week, I found his name online. Or maybe he found mine.
We started talking—just friendly stuff at first.
"Hey," turned into "how was your day?"
Memes, late-night chats, random check-ins.
There was something easy about talking to him.
Like even silence with him would never feel awkward.
Then came that day—the one where I got bullied by someone I thought was a friend.
They laughed too loud. Said too much. Tried to make me small.
And before I could even process it, he stepped in.
Not angry. Just firm.
His voice was calm but solid like a wall between me and their nonsense.
"Don't talk to her like that," he said.
And in that moment, I realized… Oshell wasn't just sweet.
He was safe.
When I visited him for the first time, I was nervous.
What would it feel like, seeing him again?
But the moment he opened the door and smiled,
all the nerves melted.
We talked. Laughed. Played some music.
And when it was time to leave, I walked away with this warm ache in my chest,
like leaving behind a piece of myself I didn't know was his.
The second visit felt like déjà vu and a dream mixed together.
We talked more than last time. Our hands brushed once—just barely.
It could've been an accident. But it wasn't.
He looked at me, held the moment, and didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
And then came the kiss—
Not in real life.
But in my head, it plays out perfectly.
We're standing under soft light, no one else around.
He leans in slowly, his eyes searching mine like a question.
And I say yes—without saying a thing.
Our lips meet, soft and slow, like the spark that started it all
had finally found its flame.
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