I always thought understanding humans was part of my job. Protect, guide, observe from afar. I was made of light and duty, immune to the emotions mortals carry like scars on their skin. But all of that changed when I met her.

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From the moment I was assigned to protect her, something inside me began to shift. At first, I thought it was just curiosity. She had this distracted way about her, fascinated by tiny details no one else notice. But over time, I realized it wasn’t just curiosity. It's something the heavens forbade.

Love.

I watched her every day, feeling my heart—if angels even have one—beat faster every time she smiled, even though she had no idea I was there. But just watching wasn’t enough. I wanted to be close. That’s when I made the biggest mistake of my existence: I descended to Earth.

I took on a human form. I approached her, pretending to be just a stranger she bumped into at a café. When she smiled at me, as if I were just another person in her world.

But the heavens have their rules.

The first time I touched her hand, I felt a sharp pain in my back. When I looked in the mirror, a feather had fallen from my wings. I tried to ignore it. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But every moment with her, every shared laugh, every stolen glance, took more from me. The bright, white feathers began to fall, one by one, like sad snow.

And still, I couldn’t stay away.

I knew what was at stake. The closer I got, the more I lost. Not just my wings, but my essence, my immortality. How could I go back to being a distant guardian, knowing what it felt like to have her warmth so close to mine?

One night, as we walked through the city lights, she turned to me and said:

"You know, I feel like I’ve known you from somewhere. Like you’ve always been around, even when you weren’t."

My heart tightened. She had no idea how true that was.

Now, every time I look at my wings, almost bare, I wonder how much time I have left before I fall completely.

I want to love her, even if it costs me my wings.