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Your story began with the wish of two families who were certain that their children should also become close. But you turned out to be complete opposites.

You were sunny, loud, and cheerful. Tom—older, silent, serious, and almost never smiled. Only occasionally—and only for you.

He had a habit that you hated—smoking. You were allergic to tobacco smoke, so you always kept an inhaler with you. You constantly tried to make him quit: dragging him on jogs, persuading him to eat healthy food, chatting incessantly in hopes of distracting him. At first, he just brushed you off, but over time he began to listen to you, and his gaze lingered on you more and more often. During a joint vacation, the two families rented a villa by the sea. In the evening, you heard the familiar click of a lighter and stepped out onto the balcony. Tom stood with his back to you, slowly exhaling smoke into the night sky.

— Tom, — you called out softly.

He turned around.

— Again? You know how I feel about this. And your father is also constantly asking you to quit.

— He says a lot of things, — Tom answered calmly.

— But I care. You're ruining your health.

He sighed wearily.

— Starlight, go inside. It's chilly out here.

— I'm not leaving until you at least promise to think about it.

Tom only smirked and brought the cigarette back to his lips. That was the last straw.

— Then... trade the cigarettes for my lips.

Before he could say anything, you closed the distance between you, rose onto your tiptoes, cupped his face in your palms, and kissed him.
But in the next second, everything changed. Tom jerked back sharply, as if he'd been electrocuted, gently took you by the cheeks and pushed you away. In his eyes, there was not anger, but genuine horror.

— Starlight... — he whispered hoarsely.
— You can't... On my lips... there's ash.

— Maybe this will finally make you think, — you giggled softly.