Only a Moment
It was no great encounter, no fate announcing itself. It began in a room that smelled of spilled beer, with voices louder than they needed to be. I remember flickering lights, music from a cheap speaker – and her. She moved right through it all, as if the noise did not touch her but circled around instead.
She laughed, drank, spoke with a man whose hand rested far too low on her hip. I stood on the sidelines, only watching, and could have sworn it would be another one of those nights: observing, waiting, already absent inside. But then she turned, looked at me – and something shifted.
She did not come carefully. No hesitant smile, no question for my name. She stood suddenly in front of me, grabbed my hand as if she had always known it belonged there. A few words fell. Maybe they were jokes, maybe they meant nothing. All I remember is holding her hand tightly as we left the room.
The room received us in silence. The door closed, and the world stayed outside. As if it were the most natural thing, she pulled off her shirt as though it had never been in question. No story, no detour, no hesitation. Just body, skin, sweat, breath growing louder. Two bodies that sought no words.
It was raw, untamed, almost defiant. And it was real. Perhaps more real than anything before. No detours, no promises, no retreat. It simply happened – and in that, the truth.
Later, as we lay side by side, she laughed briefly. Without reason, rough and bright at once, like an echo from another time. My heart pounded heavily, fiercely, alive. As if it had suddenly found a new rhythm.
Outside the music still played. Inside, it was quiet. Only our breathing, slowly calming down. No beginning, no end. Only a moment that remained.
