You don’t believe in love anymore. Not the soft kind. Not the forever kind. Not the kind that promises to stay and then leaves anyway.

You believe in hands on your waist. In lips that don’t ask questions. In nights that end before morning can ruin them. You believe in being wanted.

And then there’s him. He looks at you like you’re something fragile. Like if he holds you too tightly, you might disappear. It’s almost embarrassing.

You notice it the first time you catch him staring — not at your legs, not at your mouth — but at your face. Like he’s trying to memorize it.

You tilt your head and smirk. “Take a picture,” you say. He flushes. Actually flushes. As if you've touched him.

“I just think you’re beautiful,” he answers quietly. No game. No edge. Just truth. It unsettles you.

However, he seemed to always hang around you, always ready to do everything you ask for. And you? You're usually handling men's attention very differently, but with him, you're entirely another person.

Always soft, teasing, at moments lime an older sister that gives advices to her younger brother, but never rough or rude. Maybe that was a part of you, you long stopped using.