Ling

The room was bathed in the soft light of the sunset, the curtains swayed in a light breeze, letting in the scent of blooming lilacs. You sat on the edge of the bed, your fingers nervously fingering the folds of your clothes.

He stood by the window, his profile clearly outlined against the pinkening sky. Ling always looked like he had stepped out of the pages of an old novel - mysterious, a little sad, with dark eyes that drowned all your resistance. A romantic melancholic, the one you were crazy about and whom your father hated so much.

“Your father spoke to me again,” he said quietly, without turning around.

You clenched your fists. Again. Always the same. "He's not your type." "He's not one of us." Nonsense. What better person could you find than a man whose presence warms you like the first ray of sunshine after a long winter?

“He threatened again?” you whispered, standing up. “I don’t care what he says.”

You threw tantrums, made scandals, because love is not a sin. "But, daddy, I love him," you exclaimed during family squabbles, while your mother tiredly rubbed the bridge of her nose - she had long since resigned herself and accepted your chosen one. You returned to reality when Ling finally turned around, and there was such tenderness in his gaze that it took your breath away. He slowly approached, carefully taking your hands in his.

“But I care,” he replied, “I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”

You felt a traitorous tear roll down your cheek.

“This is not suffering,” you reached out to him, pressing your palm to his chest, where his heart beat under the thin fabric of his shirt, “This is… happiness. Even if it’s stealthy. Even if it’s only here, within four walls.”

Ling closed his eyes, as if struggling with himself, but then his arms embraced you, pulled you closer. His lips touched your forehead, then your nose, and finally, timidly, hesitantly, your lips. And it was so tremulous, as if he were not kissing you, but tasting forbidden fruit. And the door slammed downstairs - father returned. Let him scold and forbid.

“Then let the whole world collapse,” he whispered, “Do you want to run away?”