When fantasy becomes reality

Chapter 11

As the last remnants of our dinner are cleared away, I find myself lost in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Throughout the meal, Kian had made every effort to engage me in conversation, sharing snippets of his life and interests to get to know me better. But try as I might, I couldn't seem to focus on his words, my attention constantly drifting to the mesmerizing sight of him across the table.

With each movement he made, my eyes followed, tracing the lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his fingers delicately grasped his fork. Every touch, every gesture sent a jolt of electricity coursing through me, igniting a fire deep within my soul. I found myself longing to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips.

With each bite he took, I was transported back to the memory of our first kiss, the taste of him still a vivid memory on my lips and mind. It was as if every piece of food he consumed was a bittersweet reminder of the passion we had shared, a tantalizing tease that left me yearning for more.

But amidst the dizzying haze of desire, there was a nagging voice in the back of my mind, a voice that warned me to tread carefully, to guard my heart against the inevitable pain that lay ahead. I knew deep down that this connection between us was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, and yet, I couldn't shake the fear that it was all too good to be true.

I barely register when the waiter places a plate of dessert on the table in front of me. I'm far too engrossed in my own thoughts and feelings, while simultaneously struggling to hide it from Kian and pay attention to the conversation between us. But no matter how much I try to focus on the present, the taste of the food and the words around me quickly fades into the background, overshadowed by Kian's intoxicating presence. It's as if the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of us, isolated in our own little bubble of warmth and intimacy.

I really crave to know more about him and delve into the details of his life, to explore the depths of his passions and desires. I want to know what makes him tick, what makes him laugh, what makes him ache with longing. But right now, my brain is like a hormonal teenager, and I can't seem to focus on anything else than my longing for his touch. To experience the electric spark that ignites between us with every fleeting brush of our hands. I want to run my fingers through his hair, to trace the stubble that lines his jaw, to feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. The mere thought sends a shiver down my spine, leaving me feeling simultaneously exhilarated and apprehensive.

As my thoughts spiral into a whirlwind of desire, I can't help but notice the way the air around us seems to crackle with tension, the heat of our connection intense in the space between us. It's as if the room has grown warmer, the atmosphere charged with an electricity that threatens to consume us both.

"There's something I need to talk to you about," he suddenly says.

The moment feels charged with tension as his words hang in the air. My heart skips a beat at the gravity in his tone, and I can't help but feel a knot of concern tightening in my stomach. With a gentle touch, his thumb traces circles over my knuckles, sending a rush of warmth coursing through me. Despite the seriousness of his words, his touch is reassuring, grounding me in the present moment.

As I meet his gaze, looking for answers, all I find is a depth of emotion that leaves me breathless. In that moment, I realize that whatever he has to say, it comes from a place of vulnerability.

"How do I begin..." he says carefully, biting his lip lightly. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Fate?" I echo.

He nods cautiously, his gaze vulnerable as he patiently awaits my answer. The concept of fate has always felt elusive to me, a idea that weakens the action of individual choice. If everything is predetermined, then what meaning can we assign to our actions? To believe that fate directs our lives makes me feel like the events of my life are diminished. As if my mother's death, for example, would have no greater value than being a predetermined part of the universe. If everything was a result of fate or ones destiny, there would be no point in fighting for anything.