It was supposed to be a normal moment.
Just a room, just people around, just another ordinary day.
But then you looked at me.
That was it.
One glance—nothing more—but everything inside me shifted. The world didn’t feel normal anymore. The noise around us faded, voices blurred, time slowed down.
I forgot what I was doing. I forgot what I was thinking.
I only remembered you.
You stood there like you didn’t even realize what you were doing to me, calm and effortless, while I was slowly falling apart inside.
“You’re distracted again,” you said when you finally walked closer.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
But my voice wasn’t steady.
Because you were too close now.
Your presence changed everything—the air, my heartbeat, even my thoughts. I could feel my control slipping in ways I couldn’t explain. Just standing near you felt like losing balance.
Then your eyes met mine again.
And I was gone again.
“You always do this,” you murmured, almost teasing.
“Do what?” I managed to ask.
“Forget everything… when I look at you.”
My breath caught.
Because you were right.
I didn’t even realize when I stepped closer too. The space between us disappeared slowly, dangerously, like neither of us was stopping it.
For a second, nothing existed except the silence between our breaths and the pull neither of us was willing to fight.
And I understood something I couldn’t say out loud:
It wasn’t just your glance anymore.
It was you.
And I was already completely lost in it.
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