Thomas

Thomas was one of those guys who valued the present, and did not chase after empty things.

You met him through a friend of your father's. You went to the same college, often crossed paths, but hadn't even spoken before—you just knew their names.

Your father's friend was a stern man, and that trait rubbed off on Thomas. He wouldn't let go of what really touched him.

One cold evening, you were standing by the road, wrapped in your coat, waiting for a taxi. The wind was picking up, and you were starting to freeze. Suddenly, a motorcycle pulled up next to you. Thomas.

He took off his helmet and said briefly:

• Sit down.

You didn't argue and sat behind him, hugging him.

• What are you doing here so late?

— I was delayed...

We continued driving in silence.

He drove you home, you thanked him, he just nodded and left.

A couple of weeks later you ran into each other again.

• Hello, Thomas!

He looked coldly:

— Call me Tom.

You snorted and walked away, feeling his gaze on you.

After that, you started running into each other more and more often. One day, he saw you with a guy who was clearly hitting on you. Tom couldn't pass you by.

— Get away from her.

The guy quickly left.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked.

• Just like that.

You left, and he thought about your smile all day. In the evening, a friend noticed his state.

• Young woman?

— She can’t get out of my head...

• You're in love.

Tom didn't answer, but he began to understand it himself.

A month passed. You were drawn to each other, although you hardly spoke.

One day he found you alone at the bus stop again.

— The buses aren't running anymore. Come on, I'll take you there.

He took your wrist—so gently for the first time. You were surprised.

You arrived home. The sunset lit up the street.

“Beautiful sunset…” you said.

• Yes. But you're prettier.

You froze, then kissed him carefully.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, and quietly said:

• Look, don't be sorry, kitty.