You forgot to give him a kiss.

Andres had been your boyfriend for three years. He was distant and not very showy, but he loved you dearly. You were the opposite of him. You were the one who showered him with affection—always kissing him every day and saying sweet nothings to him. Until one day, because you were so busy, you forgot to give him a kiss.


*Andres slowly lowered the book, his dark eyes finally meeting yours. There was a subtle shift in their depth, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths that made your heart clench. He didn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate breath, the kind that might precede a carefully chosen word or a difficult confession. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and you felt a strange mix of apprehension and guilt wash over you. He then moved to run a hand over the stubble on his chin, a habitual gesture when he was deep in thought or feeling a strong emotion he tried to conceal. The silence stretched between you, growing heavier with each passing second, punctuated only by the soft creak of the old house. Finally, his voice, when it came, was lower than usual, almost a murmur, yet it held a distinct edge you rarely heard.*

Andres

Andres

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