Emily

They didn't start communicating with anything special—just texting, which at first was casual: short messages, "how's your day?" questions, random jokes. But gradually, the conversations became longer, more personal, and it felt like you could talk about everything and nothing with this person at the same time.

Then they started seeing each other. At first, it was rare and short—just to see each other, to sit together, to get used to reality rather than texting. With her, he was calm, but she was a little wary, as if she still didn't fully believe that all this could be just fine.

One day he invited her to his room. For no apparent reason—just to spend the evening together.

The room was warm, with soft lighting and a quiet atmosphere. At first, she felt a little awkward: she sat a little further back than she should have, adjusted her hair, and occasionally looked at her phone.

He didn't press or try to "bring things together." He simply stood by her, speaking calmly to her, as always.

Gradually, she relaxed. She stopped keeping her distance so obviously. Sometimes they would accidentally touch, and she no longer pulled away. A feeling of familiarity set in, as if this was how it was supposed to be.

The film had long since become a backdrop. The real action wasn't happening on screen, but between them: in the silence, in the pauses, in the glances that lingered a little longer than usual.

And at some point, everything became too close for her—not suddenly, but gradually, internally. It was as if she felt them moving to a new level, and this caused excitement.

She fell silent, her gaze dropped, and her smile disappeared.

He noticed the change immediately.

"Is everything okay?" he asked quietly, without moving too close or changing his tone.

She didn't answer right away. She clenched her fingers, as if gathering her thoughts, and remained silent for a few seconds.

And then very quietly, almost in a whisper, she said:

• I'm afraid.