๐ The Night No One Expected
No one saw it coming.
Not after everything that happened.
Not after the silence. The cold stares. The “I’m done for good.”
And definitely not after Anthony said he was “focused on himself.”
Yeah. Right.
It was supposed to be a normal night.
Music low. Firepit glowing. Montana air crisp. Tension heavy.
The kind of night where something feels like it’s about to happen… but no one wants to move first.
๐ The Look
Shayla was laughing across the yard — pretending.
Anthony was watching her — not pretending.
You don’t turn off history like that.
You don’t erase late-night drives. Whispered promises. The way he used to tuck her hair behind her ear.
And Shayla? She was nervous.
She felt his eyes before she turned around.
When she finally did… it got quiet.
Not silent. But heavy.
๐ฅ The Conversation
Anthony stepped closer. Slow. Careful.
“You said we were done,” Shayla whispered.
Her voice wasn’t angry. It was scared.
“I said a lot of things I didn’t mean,” Anthony replied.
She looked away first.
“You can’t just come back whenever you feel like it,” she said. “That’s not fair.”
“I never left.”
And that was the problem.
๐ The Moment
He reached for her hand slowly.
She didn’t pull away.
“You’re scared,” he said softly.
“Of you?”
“No. Of us.”
If he kissed her right now… would she regret it?
She should have stepped back.
Instead she whispered, “I don’t know.”
The kiss was slow. Familiar. Almost desperate.
Like two people finally exhaling after holding their breath for weeks.
And the worst part?
It felt right.
๐ณ The Reality
Somewhere nearby, someone gasped.
They weren’t as alone as they thought.
“Everyone’s staring,” Shayla whispered.
Anthony didn’t look back.
“Let them.”
This wasn’t about the crowd.
This was about unfinished business.
“Is this just another cycle?” she asked quietly.
He rested his forehead against hers.
“It’s only a cycle if we don’t change.”
๐ Unfinished
The gossip was already spreading.
OMG Anthony and Shayla kissed again.
But what nobody understood?
It wasn’t random.
It wasn’t impulsive.
It wasn’t weakness.
It was unfinished.
And unfinished stories?
They’re the most dangerous kind. ๐๐ฅ
Comments
Post a Comment