Page 37 of The Spark

The space beside me was empty.

I sat up, pulled on my sweats, and padded through the apartment, my chest still pounding with the memory of what we’d done. Of what it meant.

The scent of coffee still lingered—but the silence was heavy.

In the kitchen, I spotted the note beside her empty mug:

I have a meeting and didn’t want to wake you.

I stared at it, my jaw tight, heart caught between wanting to believe her… and knowing she was running again.

I took a slow sip from her mug, still warm.

No way she left without thinking about what that night meant.

No way I was going to let her disappear like that again.

This time?

I was going to make damn sure she knew—we weren’t going back.

15

Ileft before the sun came up. Before I could talk myself out of it. Before I could turn over and let his body heat sink into my skin again. Before I could risk waking up to that deep, lazy voice murmuringmorning, babyagainst my neck like last night didn’t shift something permanent between us.

It was easier this way.

Slip out of bed. Throw on sweats and a hoodie. Grab my bag. Leave.

My mind was still reeling. It had been hours, but I could still feel him—everywhere. My thighs ached from how hard I’d ridden him, my nipples were still sensitive from how greedy his mouth had been. My lips were swollen. My body… weak. And my heart …yeah. We weren’t talking about that.

Becausethis—whatever the hell this was—wasn’t supposed to happen. Even if I had dreamed of it happening for so long. Even if I had went there to practically get what I wanted.

From the outside looking in, I probably seemed confused—like I was playing coy, acting hard to get after giving him everything. But it wasn’t that.

Last night, I needed Amir. I needed every filthy, soul-claiming thing he gave me. And again early this morning, when he touched me like he knew my body better than I did. But even in the afterglow, the truth pressed at the back of my mind: this wasn’t something I could afford to believe in.

He’d said it himself—he was scared of hurting me. And that was my fear too. Because what if he did? Then what was I supposed to do with the pieces?

That question followed me into the shower, clinging to my skin like steam. I scrubbed slow, not because I needed to be clean, but because I needed space—from him, from us, from the weight of what we’d done.

I got dressed quickly after, tossing on jeans and a cropped sweatshirt, slipping out the door before I could talk myself out of it. I didn’t want to see his eyes. Didn’t want to drown in that rich chocolate stare, the one that always made me forget what was smart and remember what felt good.

I needed clarity. Because last night I didn’t have any. Last night, I let go. I let myself fall. Deeper than I meant to. Deeper than I was ready for.

And the truth was, I’d been hiding those feelings for years—because loving Amir out loud was dangerous.

And safer buried didn’t mean they weren’t still alive.

I knew what happened when I got too close. I knew how the world worked. The kind of women Amir always had on his arm weren’t the kind of women who had to overthink their feelings. They weren’t the kind of women who felt too deeply. And me.

I was too much.

Too much heart. Too much attachment. Too much of everything.

He didn’t need all that. He never had.

And if I was smart, I wouldn’t let myself forget that.

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