Whispers of an Almost Kiss

Whispers of an Almost Kiss The night was unusually quiet. The kind that makes every sound feel sharper, every breath feel louder, every heartbeat feel a little too close to the surface. We’d wandered out of the house party together—not intentionally, just following the same instinct to escape the noise and breathe air that didn’t taste like music and perfume. The backyard opened into a small garden, dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from a tree. And beyond it, the moon glowed silver over everything, turning the grass pale and soft. We ended up sitting on the old wooden swing beneath the mango tree. Close, but not touching. We’d always been that—close but not touching. Maya tucked her knees up, hugging them gently. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, catching the moonlight like it had its own shimmer. She exhaled, her breath clouding slightly in the cool air. “I needed this,” she murmured. “Me too,” I said. She tilted her head toward me. “You don’t even like parties.” “I don’t,” I admitted. “But you wanted to go.” A small smile played on her lips—soft, almost shy. “So you went because of me?” “So maybe I did.” She looked at me then—really looked. The kind of look that makes time slow, makes you...