And God—his voice.
That deep, smoky bass that used to give me butterflies when we were teenagers now lights me up from the inside like someone struck a match.
“When I left, I thought I knew it all.
But I was young, a fool, afraid to admit I was wrong.
Years go by like sand falling through time…
but still you’re the one I can’t get out of my mind.
Seeing you again?—
I know you’re the sun in my sky,
my everything…”
My breath shatters.
My knees go weak.
Tears prick hot and fast at the corners of my eyes.
“I can’t get enough of you…
Don’t leave me in the dark…
I don’t want to be alone anymore, baby.
You’re the spark.
You are the spark.”
By the time he finishes, I’m not the same woman who walked into this studio.
I’m not the girl who tried to talk herself out of wanting him.
I’m not the coward who hid behind “give me space” and “time” and “let’s go slow.”
I’m the woman who hears the truth—Nathan’s truth—and feels her own rise to meet it.
All the doubt?
Gone.
All the hesitation?
Ash.
All the fear of falling first again?
Burned away by the heat building low and insistent in my belly.
What replaces it?
Need.
Pure, electric, undeniable need.
