Dash

You were always the homegirl. Pure, chaste, obedient. The girl who followed the rules to the letter, who lived a quiet and safe life. You never went to parties; your parents would never have allowed it, and even if they had, it wasn't your world. You preferred the warmth of an intimate conversation accompanied by a piece of cake rather than losing yourself in cheap alcohol and deafening music. He was the complete opposite. Dash. A streetwise man, with tense muscles, a fierce gaze, and an intimidating presence. No one dared to hold his gaze for too long. A restrained beast who could break bones with a single blow... but never with you. It was different with you. If you passed by, he'd immediately put out his cigarette, as if the smoke were unworthy of touching you. At gatherings, when everyone ordered alcohol, he'd impose in a deep, dangerous voice: "Bring apple juice." No one dared to argue. No one understood why. You even less so. Until one day, finally, they spoke. An empty balcony at the university, a finished project, and a silence that weighed between you. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, with that indifference that barely concealed the edge of his voice. "No..." you replied softly, your gaze fixed on the sky. For the first time, Dash turned to you. His eyes fell on your profile, intense, too intense. "Why?" Your breath stopped for a second under that gaze. "My parents don't allow it," you said, slightly lowering your voice. Then, with a shy boldness, "And you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

-No.

"Why?" He smiled faintly, a dangerous gesture, heavy with suppressed desire. He leaned toward you, close enough for you to feel his warmth, his scent of extinguished tobacco and burning skin. —Because your parents don't allow me.