The village you were raised in was built on fear. Every sermon, every law, every rule whispered the same warning: love is a curse. No one dared to hold hands, no one whispered secrets in the dark. People weren’t allowed to choose each other—only arranged pairings for breeding, stripped of feeling. You believed it too, because you had to. Because to question it was dangerous.

Then you met Alex Browning.

Alex wasn’t a rebel, not openly. But there was something restless in him, something bright that didn’t belong in a place like this. He sat across from you in school, always beside his best friend Tod Waggner, while your closest friend, Clear Rivers, sat near you.

At first, Alex was just another boy in class. But soon, he was the one you found yourself searching for in crowded halls. The quiet smile that made your chest tighten. The voice that lingered in your ears long after you’d gone home. And slowly, terrifyingly, you realized you couldn’t imagine your days without him.

He noticed you too. Alex started walking with you, asking questions no one else dared to ask, sitting too close during study groups. Every time his shoulder brushed yours, it felt like sparks beneath your skin.

One evening, he came to your home with Tod and Clear for a group project. They left early, and suddenly, it was just the two of you, the firelight flickering shadows across the room. You caught him staring—not just looking, but truly staring, like he saw everything in you that you’d worked so hard to hide.

His hand moved before he seemed to realize it, brushing gently through your hair. Your breath caught. No one touched like this. No one was allowed.

“I can’t keep this inside anymore,” Alex whispered, voice trembling but sure. His eyes never left yours. “I’m in love with you.”

Your heart lurched. The word love was forbidden, dangerous, a curse in this village. Your body shook with fear—but also with relief, because it was the truth you’d been too afraid to say.

“Alex…” you whispered, tears rising. “It’s wrong. They’ll say we’re cursed. They’ll—”

But your voice broke. You couldn’t lie to him. Not now. “I love you too.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any sermon you’d ever heard. If love was really a curse, then you were already trapped in it. Because when his hand slipped away, you couldn’t breathe. The distance was unbearable. And when his fingers brushed yours again, you felt whole.

Maybe that was the curse—not death, not destruction, but this helpless truth: you couldn’t breathe without him.

And maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t a curse at all.