Tara Tainton It Can Happen So Fast //free\\ -

She turns her head on the carpet, her cheek pressing into the fibers. "Now," she says, "we stop pretending we didn't feel it."

My heart knocked against my ribs. We were still sitting on the floor, surrounded by old sweaters and forgotten books, but the space between us had become electric. I could feel the heat from your arm, inches from mine. I could smell your perfume—something soft with vanilla undertones.

It can happen so fast. But maybe—just maybe—that's the only way it ever really happens at all.

Our eyes met over the open pages. Something shifted—subtle as a change in air pressure before a storm. You didn't look away. Neither did I.

And just like that, the line you drew years ago disappears. No fanfare. No warning. Just the quiet thunder of two people finally telling the truth with their hands, their mouths, the soft sounds that fill the space between hesitation and surrender.

Then you found the old photo album.

Afterward, you lie side by side on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The dust motes dance in the afternoon light, same as before. But nothing is the same.

"It was a good day," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.