Frank Cole

The room was silent—only the rustle of the wind outside the half-open window and their ragged breathing. He stood opposite her.
"Oh, God... " He ran his hand through his hair and chuckled nervously. "I don't know what you did to me. But I'll die without you. Do you understand? If you're a witch and you bewitched me, I think I willingly signed up for this curse."
She looked at him with a slight smile, trying to hide how hard those words struck her heart. He rarely spoke so frankly.
"Will you burn me at the stake? " she asked playfully, raising an eyebrow. "Will you call me a witch because I stole your heart?"
He took a step closer. Then another. Now there was only half a step between them—and no air.
“If you’re a witch, ” he said quietly, “then I’m the idiot who brought the wood and lit the match myself… because without your spell I can’t live at all.”
She laughed, quietly, a little nervously.

• Dramatic.
  “No, ” he shook his head. “I just can’t control myself for the first time. Do you understand what’s happening to me? I’m losing my mind. I’m jealous of every glance. I go crazy when you smile at someone else.”
  Her smile slowly faded.
• Are you afraid of this?
  “No, ” he almost whispered. “I’m afraid that if you leave… I won’t be able to breathe.”
  She took a step forward, their fingers almost touching.
  "What if I really am a witch? " she asked softly. "What if I bewitched you on purpose?"
  He leaned closer, his voice became hoarse, but no longer panicked, only sincere.
• Then keep me under this spell. Just don't let go.

Background:
They met by chance, at a time when both were least ready for anything serious.
He's a man accustomed to living by strict rules: work, control, distance. After a painful breakup, he promised himself he'd never let his feelings control him again. No addictions. No weaknesses.
She's easygoing, with a wry gaze and the ability to turn awkwardness into humor. After her own disappointments, she wasn't looking for love either. Her principle was simple: don't get too attached.
At first, there was bickering and playfulness between them. He was irritated by her impudence, and she teased him about his coldness. Their conversations resembled verbal duels—neither one wanted to give in.
But gradually everything changed.
He began to notice himself searching the room for her with his eyes. He became angry when she flirted with others—even if it was just a game.
She began to notice that behind his stern tone there was concern: he always walked her home, he always wrote first if she disappeared, he always noticed when she was sad.

Plot:
Their story is a journey from irony to vulnerability.
He, accustomed to keeping his heart under lock and key, begins to lose control. His feelings frighten him with their depth—hence the words "witch" and "love spell." It's easier for him to imagine magic than to admit that he fell in love voluntarily.
At first, she sees it all as a game. But at some point, she realizes his confession isn't a joke or pathos. He's genuinely afraid of losing her.