Tell me how to love you

Mark stood in the doorway, his body unmoving, rooted to the spot. His heart pounded in his chest, a loud and rapid rhythm that seemed to drown out everything else around him. The air in the hallway felt suffocating, as though the weight of everything unsaid was pressing down on him, crushing him with its sheer intensity. His mind raced--no, it was more like a storm, a violent whirlwind of thoughts, regrets, and fears that crashed against each other in chaotic disarray. He wanted to speak. He wanted to explain. He wanted to push past the walls he had built so carefully, but each time he tried, the words slipped away like water through his fingers.

Why can't I just say something? The thought echoed in his mind over and over again, sharp and painful, as though it were a question he would never be able to answer.

He could feel her presence, standing just a few feet away, her gaze fixed on him with a kind of quiet patience that he wasn't used to. He didn't know how to respond to her. He didn't know how to explain the tangle of emotions that had taken root inside him. It was easier to remain silent, to hide in the fortress of his own confusion than to open up and risk everything. But Emma--Emma was different. And that realization terrified him.

Her hand was still stretched out toward him, her fingers hovering close to his own, just inches away, as though waiting for him to make the choice. She wasn't forcing him, she wasn't demanding anything from him, but there was an undeniable pressure in the space between them. The pull to reach out, to take her hand, was so strong that it almost felt magnetic. And yet, Mark stayed still, paralyzed by his own fear, the need to keep distance from anyone who might get too close.

The silence stretched on, long and heavy, wrapping around them like an invisible cord. Mark's chest tightened as he fought against the gnawing feeling of panic that was starting to rise within him. He could hear her breathing now--slow, even, calm--and somehow, it only made the silence more deafening. The tension was thick in the air, hanging between them like an unspoken question neither of them knew how to ask.

Mark glanced up at her, his eyes flicking to hers. For a moment, all he could see was warmth--a kind of quiet understanding in her gaze that made his throat tighten. He wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe that she could see him, not the version of him he so desperately wanted to hide, but the real, messy, broken part of him. He could feel her gaze reaching deep inside him, peeling back the layers he had so carefully constructed. It made him feel exposed. Vulnerable. Terrified.

But then, something shifted. Emma didn't pull away. She didn't say anything more, not at first. Instead, her hand, soft and steady, reached out once more, closing the distance between them. Her fingers brushed against his, tentative at first, as though she was giving him the choice to reject her, to push her away.

Mark flinched, a sharp intake of breath, but it wasn't from discomfort. No, there was something else in her touch, something unfamiliar. It wasn't pity, or sympathy--it was just there. A connection. A presence. A warmth that felt too big, too kind, for someone like him.

Her fingers curled around his, her grip gentle but sure. And just like that, without a word, without asking for permission, she was pulling him forward. She wasn't dragging him, not really, but the soft tug of her hand felt like the only thing in the world that made sense. It was as if, for the first time in a long while, someone was pulling him out of his own darkness--out of himself--and into something simpler, something real.

"Come on," she said, her voice a soft murmur, like a quiet command, and yet, there was something in it that felt like a reassurance. Like she wasn't asking him to do anything more than just be with her. "I was going shopping. But it's no fun going alone. And all my friends are busy. So, I came to drag you there."

Her words were light, playful even, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper in them. She wasn't asking him to explain himself. She wasn't demanding answers. She was offering him something simpler--a chance to be with her, to do something normal, to exist outside the walls of his mind.

Mark blinked, momentarily stunned by her casual insistence. The words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to the world of fear and uncertainty that had held him captive for so long. Shopping? Of all things, shopping? It felt so mundane, so ordinary, and yet, in that moment, it was exactly what he needed. He couldn't bring himself to say no--not to her. Not when she was holding his hand, guiding him forward without hesitation.

A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips as he allowed himself to be pulled along. His feet shuffled forward, slow and heavy at first, but then, with each step, it felt like something inside him began to ease, just a little. The pressure in his chest loosened, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply move--to exist in the rhythm of her steps, to follow her lead.

Emma's fingers tightened around his, but only slightly. She wasn't rushing him, wasn't pushing him in any way. She was simply walking beside him, letting the silence settle between them in a way that felt less like an obstacle and more like an unspoken understanding. She didn't ask him to speak, didn't demand anything more from him than the act of being with her.

For a moment, Mark didn't know how to feel. His thoughts were still clouded with self-doubt, still heavy with the burden of his own insecurities. But there was something about the simplicity of the moment--the quiet act of walking with her, of allowing her to take the lead--that made everything else fade into the background. It was like he could almost breathe again, just for a second. No pressure. No expectations. Just her, holding his hand, guiding him into the world outside the safety of his apartment.

As they reached the door, Mark found himself hesitating, the threshold of his apartment suddenly feeling like a barrier he wasn't sure he could cross. The idea of stepping outside, of facing the world beyond, felt daunting. But Emma's hand was steady, warm in his, and when she stepped forward, her gaze flicking back to him with a small, reassuring smile, Mark felt a shift inside him. It wasn't grand or dramatic. It wasn't a sudden revelation. It was more like a quiet acceptance of something he hadn't yet figured out how to name.

Maybe it was the start of something--maybe it wasn't. But for now, in this moment, it didn't matter. Because for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he didn't have to do it alone.

Her hand remained in his, and that small act of connection--the warmth of her touch, the gentle pull that guided him forward--was all he needed to take that first step out into the world beyond.

***

A/N: is it considered a date?

Save this book.

Vote this book.

Pls comment.