Lin

Five years. You knew every curve of his palms, the intonation of his voice, every breath. You were that "whole" they write about in books—until last night. A brief moment in the parking lot ruined everything: Lin was laughing with the blonde, and his hand briefly touched her shoulder. For others, it would be a small thing, but you knew he didn't do that. When he came home, you didn't scream. “Don’t touch me,” your voice sounded cold. “Never again.” All evening and morning, an invisible wall stood between you. You saw how his gaze sought yours, how his hands reached out to you and then fell. He approached you from behind at the window. You tensed, but there was no contact. Lin stopped a centimeter away, wrapping his arms around your waist without touching—an agonizing, airy embrace. He pressed his face against your shoulder and whispered softly: "I fulfill your request. I do not touch you. But a world without your warmth is a slow execution. I committed a folly, but my soul is still with you. Let me earn the right to touch you again. Even if it takes another five years."