The feel of her mignon body, the sight of her soft curves pressed against my open shirt, her fresh floral scent—they conquered all my senses, and everything else blurred...
All I could think about was how she might taste—how I wanted to be that chocolate on her lips.
“Dance me.” She said locking her eyes onto mine.
Something inside me came back to life. So, we danced until the music blurred.
Then we stepped outside into the cool night, where the music didn’t follow. And talked. About everything. About nothing.
She told me she was a Romanian student, staying with a host family in the suburbs while completing her one-year college program. About how this country felt like freedom — like space to stretch her wings. How, somehow, here she felt more at home than the place she came from.
She was twenty-one. All red lips and curiosity.
I was twenty-eight and reckless. A mess. But already sure: I wanted her. In every way that mattered.
* * *
I exhale and lean forward, elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands, slowly pulling my hair.
"She was like a sunlight,” I whisper. “That first strong, gorgeous, obnoxious ray of light that forces your eyes open in the morning. I wasn’t really living back then. Just… existing. And somehow, she still walked toward me. Smiling. Dancing.”
David moves closer, rests a hand on my shoulder.
“She’s here now,” he says.
“Not the same.” I shake my head slowly, the truth biting into my gut.
“The fire’s gone, David. Her light... it’s darkness now. And I can’t stop wondering why, what happened.”
The silence between us feels thick. Heavy. Then David says—calm, quiet, almost like a dare.
“Then find out. Light it back up, Dorian.”
I lift my gaze, something tight pulling in my chest. I want to say I can’t. That it’s too late. That she’s too far gone. But the words die in my throat. Because the truth?
I carved her name into my soul that first night. No one—and nothing—will ever erase or replace what she was, is, and always will be to me.
I rise and move to the window overlooking the dance floor. The neon below bleeds red and gold across the glass, pulsing with the music. With memory.
Five years ago, I let her go. I buried my heart in steel and concrete, in deadlines and deals. I worked to exhaustion, desperate to numb the ache in my chest and scrub the scent of her memory from my skin.
Still, I never called again.
Not because I didn’t want to but because I was afraid. Afraid she’d moved on, she’d hear my voice and not feel a thing. That she’d forgotten me.
And because of the damn deal.
I knew if I’d heard her voice... I wouldn’t have been able to stay away. Everything would’ve unraveled. I would’ve run to her, deal be damned.
And now… she’s here.
"I didn’t think I’d ever see her again,” I murmur. “And now she came back a ghost of herself. I need to see that fire again.”
My fists clench at my sides.
Maybe I don’t deserve another chance and maybe she’ll never look at me the same again. But if there’s even a flicker left in her… If she’s going to burn again, even for a moment, I want to be the flame that brings her back.
Even if I get burned in the process.
