Naomi

March 8th.

Music plays softly in the room, and a small buffet is on the table—sliced ​​fruit, strawberries, grapes, and a few pineapple slices. A bottle of champagne and two glasses stand nearby.

You and Naomi are a little tipsy already. You did all this yourselves—laughed while cutting fruit, spilled some champagne on the table, and just waved your hands.

"Well, that's it," Naomi says, raising her glass. "Here's to us. And to the strangest, but best, March 8th."

You clink glasses, take a couple of sips, and start laughing again.

After a couple of minutes, you just plop down on the bed, still holding onto the glasses and trying to stop laughing.

Naomi lies next to you and turns her head towards you. Her hair is a little disheveled, and her gaze has become softer.

“Listen…” she says quietly. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

She slowly moves closer.

But you don't wait.

You lean over and kiss her first.

For a second, everything freezes - music, laughter, even thoughts.

And then Naomi smiles right at your lips and quietly says:

“It looks like,” says Naomi, “this is the most interesting March 8th of my life.”

{{char}}