The kiss had ended without words, but not without turmoil.
Angie and Gregory stood still, just inches apart. Neither seemed to know what to say or do. Silence settled over them like a thin blanket—slightly heavy, slightly comforting.
Their breaths mingled for a moment longer, then they slowly pulled away, as if afraid to break the fragile balance between them. Gregory straightened up, stiffly, hands in his pockets, eyes avoiding hers. Angie wrapped her arms around her waist, searching for composure.
"I... I think it's late," she murmured, lowering her gaze.
Gregory glanced at the clock, surprised by the time. The digital numbers read 11:56 PM. Time seemed to have slipped away without warning.
"Do you want me to call a taxi for you?" he asked in a low, almost mechanical voice.
She hesitated, turning her head toward the window. Outside, the night was dark and quiet. Even the city sounds seemed muffled.
"It's nearly midnight… I'm tired. If you don't mind… could I sleep here?"
He nodded gently, visibly relieved she wasn't leaving right away.
"Of course. I'll get the guest room ready."
She gave a small, discreet smile.
"Thank you..."
They climbed the stairs separately, like strangers returning from somewhere too intimate. No mention of the kiss. No lingering looks. Just that soft, strange tension—like background music they both tried to ignore.
In the guest room, Angie stood motionless for a moment, staring at the bed. Then she sat down on the edge, hugging her knees to her chest. Her thoughts were swirling. The silence in the house, though calming, echoed too loudly in her head.
She closed her eyes. The kiss replayed over and over again. The warmth of Gregory's lips, the tenderness in his gaze just before. It hadn't been a careless gesture. It hadn't been a mistake. There had been intention. Emotion. And maybe something even more dangerous: hope.
She slipped under the covers, but sleep refused to come. Every time she shut her eyes, the scene came rushing back. His breath. His hand brushing hers. There had been something beautiful in that stolen intimacy… but also a terrible guilt.
---
The next morning, long before the sun had fully risen, Gregory was already awake.
He had gotten up silently, almost on tiptoe, as if afraid of waking the memory of the night before. In the kitchen, he turned on the coffee maker and took out a bowl for hot chocolate. He remembered—she didn't like coffee in the morning. That simple detail warmed his heart for a brief second.
As he poured the milk, his mind wandered. He relived the tremor in his fingers when he kissed her. The surprise in her eyes. He didn't know how to deal with what he felt. This hadn't been planned. It wasn't reasonable. But it had happened.
When Angie finally came downstairs, wearing a loose, comfy pajama, her hair messy, she found Gregory already seated at the table. He was holding his cup with both hands, his gaze lost in the steam.
"Morning," she whispered timidly.
He looked up, hesitated for a second.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice a bit hoarse.
"More or less..."
She sat across from him. He handed her the bowl of hot chocolate, wordlessly. She took it gently, like it might break.
They drank in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts. The moment had lost the lightness of the day before. The innocence had vanished with the night. Only the weight of consequences remained.
Sometimes their eyes met, but only briefly. There was too much to say, and no strength to say it.
Angie stared at the table, her bowl, the lines on her hands. She wanted to say "I'm sorry," or "What do we do now?" but the words stayed stuck inside her.
Gregory seemed like he wanted to speak too, but just sipped his coffee, shoulders slumped under an invisible burden.
After a few minutes, Angie stood up gently.
"I'm going home. I need... some time, I think."
He nodded. A simple gesture, but one filled with resignation. As if he understood. As if he expected it.
"Okay. Do you want me to drive you?"
She shook her head.
"No, it's fine. Thanks for breakfast… and for last night."
He lowered his eyes. A nearly inaudible murmur slipped from his lips:
"I should be the one thanking you."
She left without another word. One last glance, almost painful, and she walked out the door.
---
Back home, Angie pushed the front door open with a kind of weariness. The apartment felt colder than usual. As if something had changed. As if she had changed.
She dropped her keys on the sideboard, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed gently onto the couch. Her bag fell to the floor unnoticed.
She closed her eyes. The silence here too was deep, but less welcoming. Less peaceful. She wanted to sleep. To forget. But it was impossible.
The kiss came back to her again. Vivid. Burning. Unforgettable. Her heart picked up pace despite herself. Her fingers brushed her lips, as if they still held his warmth.
A soft smile, almost dreamy, slowly spread across her face.
But it only lasted a few seconds.
Jessica's image suddenly forced itself into her mind.
Jessica, her friend. Jessica, Gregory's wife. Jessica, who trusted her.
And then something inside her cracked.
Her smile vanished. A cold, almost acidic feeling slid through her chest. She had crossed a line she had never allowed herself to cross.
She had betrayed.
Not just a friend, but a part of herself. A part that still believed in loyalty, in doing the right thing. A part she might have just lost.
The tears didn't come. Not yet. Only that dull pain, like a weight pressing on her chest8. A quiet discomfort, somewhere between desire and regret.
She rose slowly, walked toward the bathroom, and stared at herself in the mirror.
And asked, without daring to answer:
"Who am I becoming?"