She didn't sleep.
Not even for a second.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again—
the way he dragged her away from that guy,
the way his breath hit her skin,
the way he pinned her against that cold wall like she belonged there,
and the way he kissed her…
hard, hungry, unapologetic.
A kiss that wasn't begging.
A kiss that was claiming.
She kept telling herself it meant nothing, but her lips…
her lips betrayed her.
They were still warm, still tingling, still remembering the exact shape of his.
She hated that.
She hated how her heart had jumped, how her fingers had gripped his shirt without thinking, how she kissed him back instead of pushing him away.
She turned on her pillow for the hundredth time.
"Stupid," she muttered, pressing her hand against her mouth as if she could erase the memory.
But the memory had sunk too deep.
Like ink.
Like fire.
He didn't sleep either.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, that same kiss replaying in his mind like a movie on loop.
He hadn't planned it.
He had only planned to interrupt her dance, maybe pull her away, maybe tease her.
But the moment she looked at him with those stubborn, bold, infuriating eyes…
Something snapped.
He didn't regret it.
Not for a second.
What bothered him wasn't the kiss.
It was her response.
The way she kissed him back.
Not weakly.
Not shyly.
But like she had been waiting for it.
And then she ran.
He smirked slightly, shaking his head.
"You can run all you want," he whispered into the empty room, repeating the same words he whispered against her neck. "But you still feel this… and so do I."
He knew she heard him that night.
He knew she felt exactly what he felt.
And he knew she was probably losing her mind right now.
Good.
She wasn't the only one.
Morning came.
Bright, loud, normal for everyone else.
But not for her.
She walked into class with her head held high, pretending her heart wasn't pounding. She pretended not to check if he was there.
Except she did.
Her eyes scanned the room too quickly.
Too sharply.
And when she didn't see him, she felt that stupid drop in her stomach.
Good.
He wasn't here.
She didn't want to see him anyway.
She slid into her seat, acting unbothered, arranging her books like her fingers weren't trembling the slightest bit.
Then the door opened.
He walked in.
Slow. Calm. Like he owned the hallway.
Like nothing had happened.
But the moment he saw her—
his eyes paused.
Just one heartbeat of a pause.
But she felt it.
She immediately looked away, fighting the flush crawling up her neck.
She could still feel his mouth on hers.
Why?
Why did it feel like her entire body remembered that kiss?
He sat two rows behind her.
She refused to turn around.
But she didn't have to—
because she felt his stare on her skin.
Hot. Heavy.
Like a hand sliding down her spine.
Her breath hitched before she forced herself to sit straighter.
No.
She wouldn't let him think she cared.
During break, she walked out quickly, wanting air—
but he followed.
She heard his footsteps first.
Then felt his presence trailing behind her like gravity she couldn't shake.
She didn't turn.
But he didn't call her name either.
Good.
They weren't talking.
They weren't supposed to talk.
Still…
her heart picked up speed.
She stopped at a vending machine, taking too long to choose something she didn't even want.
And of course—
he stopped too, standing beside her, silent, tall, warm, too close.
Her pulse betrayed her again.
Why did his nearness feel louder after that kiss?
He reached past her, brushing her arm lightly.
It was barely a touch—
but her whole body reacted like he set sparks under her skin.
She swallowed.
He grabbed a drink, stepped back, and walked away without a word.
She exhaled shakily.
This was torture.
Pure, intentional torture.
And he knew it.
Later in the day, she caught him laughing with his friends, acting like life was normal.
As if he hadn't turned her world upside down last night.
It annoyed her.
Fine—
two could play that game.
She laughed too loudly with her own friends.
She made sure she didn't even glance his way.
Except she did.
Every few seconds.
Like an addict.
And every time she looked, he was already watching her.
That same unreadable, confident expression.
Like he could still taste her.
She felt her cheeks burn.
She hated him.
She wanted him.
Both at once.
When she finally got home, she thought the feelings would leave.
They didn't.
She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers pressed against her lips again.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered.
But she knew the answer.
Nothing was wrong.
Something had simply started.
Something she had been pretending not to see since the first day she met him.
And now—
after that kiss—
she couldn't pretend anymore.
She touched her lips again.
She could still feel him.
Every part of her could.
And deep down, in the place she refused to admit existed…
she wanted more.
Not that she would tell him.
Not yet.
Not ever… unless he kissed her like that again.
Because a kiss like that?
It's not something you forget.
It's something that follows you.
Consumes you.
Changes everything.
And that kiss…
changed everything.