He was sitting across from me, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the café windows. We had been talking for hours, lost in conversation, when he started explaining the plot of his favorite book. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and his hands moved as he described the intricate details of the story. I tried to listen intently, but something else kept pulling my attention.
It was the way his voice softened when he spoke to me, as if every word was carefully chosen just for my ears. I noticed how his tone would shift, growing gentler whenever our eyes met, like he was sharing something more than just the plot. I couldn’t help but smile, my heart fluttering in a way that felt both new and familiar. He wasn’t just talking about a book—he was letting me into his world, one tender word at a time.
I found myself studying his face, the way his lips curved into a smile when he saw that I was listening. There was something so comforting about the way he spoke, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist in that moment, just us and the space between us. The book he was describing faded into the background, overtaken by the feeling growing in my chest.
"Are you even listening?" he teased, catching the distracted look in my eyes.
I blushed, caught in the moment, and nodded quickly. "Of course I am."
He laughed softly, that warm, genuine laugh that always seemed to melt away any tension. "What part was I just talking about, then?"
I hesitated, trying to remember something, anything about the story, but it was no use. All I could think about was him, sitting there, looking at me like I was the only person that mattered.
"I might have gotten a little lost," I admitted, biting my lip with a shy smile.
His grin widened, a playful glint in his eyes. "Lost? In my voice, I hope?"
The gentle teasing sent a wave of warmth through me. I looked down, feeling my cheeks flush, but then I felt his hand gently reach across the table, his fingers brushing mine. I glanced up, meeting his gaze, and in that moment, everything else faded away.
"I’m glad," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Because sometimes, when I talk to you, I feel like I'm lost too. In a good way."
My breath caught, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The air between us felt charged with something unspoken but deeply felt. His hand stayed there, warm against mine, and I realized that maybe we weren’t just talking about a book, or getting lost in words. Maybe we were both getting lost in each other, and that was the sweetest story of all.
As the minutes stretched into what felt like forever, I squeezed his hand, a silent acknowledgment that I felt it too. His eyes softened even more, and I knew this moment would stay with me, like the pages of a favorite book you never want to end.
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