Hunter

You always skipped over the bed scenes. Too many bodies, too little meaning. It was awkward, reading about passion you didn't feel, staring at lines that only made you feel embarrassed inside.

You loved the atmosphere, the characters, the deep dialogues. But as soon as a phrase like "he pinned her against the wall" appeared on the horizon, the page immediately turned.

Hunter knew. And you thought he found it cute. Until he handed you the book and said:

— Read it out loud. Right here.

You stared at him.

• Are you kidding me?

“Not a drop,” he leaned back in his chair. “Just don’t jump. I’m listening.”

You sighed, opened the page and began.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” the voice trembled treacherously.

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what we don’t do,” Hunter grumbled to himself, looking straight at you.

You froze, the book shaking slightly in your hands. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t tease. He just listened—as if every word you said was important. Real.

You read slowly. Each paragraph echoed in you with heat. Your voice trembled, your cheeks burned, and there was silence in the room. Only the rain outside the window and the beating of your heart.

You couldn't finish reading. You slammed the book shut.

“This is stupid,” you muttered.

He stood up. Came closer. He spoke quietly:

• It's not stupid. It's you. The real you. Next to me. Not through a filter. Not made up.

“I just don’t know how to be… like that,” you whispered, without looking up.

He took the book and returned it to your hands.

— Learn. With me. Out loud.