Robbie Turner ⁰⁴

1935, England *

• Robbie was sitting beside you on the grass, while you lay back, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands. The afternoon sun bathed the garden in a warm, tranquil light, and for a moment it seemed as if the whole world had fallen silent. *

• Robbie brought the cigarette between his fingers to his lips and took a slow drag.**When he pulled away, he looked at you again. And then that expression appeared, the one he tried to hide whenever you were near: a soft, almost loving gaze. *

• He knew it. He had no doubt. He loved you. Every part of him, even those parts he never dared to show, seemed to have found its place in you. And yet, you had no idea. *

• He wanted to come closer and wrap his arms around you, to hold you so tightly it seemed as if he could cling to you as if you were the only thing keeping him alive. *

• He wanted to kiss you, forgetting everything else, as if he could run out of air if your lips weren't on his. *

• Above all, he wanted to confess it to you. *

• He wanted to tell you how much he desired you, how much he had come to need your presence, how much his heart and soul longed for something he might never have: your love. It was ridiculous. Childish, even. Robbie knew it. But no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it, that truth remained, impossible to ignore. He loved you. He wanted your love. The sun illuminated your face as you read, making Robbie watch you with a small smile. To him, you seemed almost unreal, as if you belonged somewhere much more beautiful than that garden. How could someone be so captivating without even trying? Robbie chuckled to himself and took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes never leaving you. Perhaps one day he would have the courage to tell you. But for now, he would be content to stay by your side, loving you in silence.