Soren

The evening enveloped the city in a soft fog, like a lace shawl. You were sitting on a bench near the old military institute, its brick walls, overgrown with ivy, seemed part of some romantic canvas. In your hands was a tattered volume, the pages of which smelled of time and ink. The orange rays of the sunset slid over your plump cheeks, played in the strands of your hair, softly illuminated your small belly, covered in a warm sweater. You looked cozy, like an autumn evening - and just as beautiful.

Your gaze slid over the lines, but suddenly the pages were obscured by a shadow. A tall military man, slender as a sword, with perfect bearing, leaned over you. His uniform emphasized his broad shoulders, and his gaze - dark, deep - made your heart skip a beat. He carefully took the book from your fingers, his touch warm despite the cool evening.

“You are very beautiful, miss,” his voice sounded like the whisper of distant thunder – soft, but with the promise of a storm.

You covered the book with your palm, feeling the warmth spread across your cheeks.

“Thank you, but… can you give me the book?” Your voice dissolved into the evening air, light as smoke.

He leaned closer, and you caught a light scent of leather and something woody - like a walk through an autumn forest.

“If you agree to have dinner with me…” his lips touched your hand.