Page 28 of The Spark

Itried to focus.

Tried to let the weight of my stylus moving across the screen keep me grounded, keep me tethered to something other than the feeling still lingering on my lips even a day later.

The taste of him.

I had spent years pretending I didn’t want this, that I didn’t wanthim. Years swallowing my feelings, convincing myself that whatever I felt back then wasn’t real. That what happened when that quarantine itch got the best of us wasn’t real.

But that kiss had been real. Too real.

And now, even as I tried to force my mind on my work, tried to breathe past the heat still curling inside of me, I couldn’t shake it.

The memory wouldn’t leave me alone—the way he’d gripped my waist, pulled me flush against him, pressed his lips to mine like he had been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

And last night, when I heard him come home—his quiet footsteps, the way he paused outside my door like he was deciding something—I waited. I waited for him to open it. To walk in, cross the line, and take us both out of this misery. To end the game, end the friendship, and collect what had always been ours.

But he didn’t.

He went to the shower instead. Then disappeared into his room like none of it happened. Like I hadn’t kissed him back. Like we hadn’t already begun unraveling.

So this morning, I stayed hidden. Didn’t greet him. Didn’t step into the kitchen like I usually would. I curled into my silence, praying he’d be gone soon—telling myself that if I ignored it, maybe it would fade.

Like that was even possible.

I wasn’t sure how I managed to keep working today—how my fingers kept moving, how my eyes stayed on the screen. But somehow, they did. Somehow, I kept sketching, chasing the shape of something new.

The celestial woman was done. That chapter closed.

Now, I was starting something different. Something I didn’t have words for yet. Just lines. Angles. Fragments.

It wasn’t even a full figure—just the beginnings of someone heavy with emotion. Someone layered and distant, as if built to be seen but not touched.

My fingers hovered above the screen…I didn’t know what I was making yet.

But I felt him.

I pulled off my glasses, pressing the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to find my center and calm. He was everywhere. In my mind, my heart, his energy pulling at me. Like it always had.

I needed to breathe.

The sharp buzz of my phone made me flinch. I blinked at the screen, clearing my throat before answering.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Hey, baby girl,” she practically sang, “How’s my favorite daughter doing?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m your only daughter.”

“Exactly.”

A small smile pulled at my lips despite myself. “I’m good. Just working.”

“Mmhmm.” She dragged out the sound like she already knew something was off. “And how’s the temporary roommate situation?”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?” she asked, that knowing smirk clear in her voice.

I exhaled slowly. “It’s… an adjustment.”

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