Hers to Love

Chapter 10

He never let go of my hand while we danced. The warmth of his touch lingered long after the music ended, filling my heart with a confusing mix of emotions. In that moment, everything else faded away—the crowd, the noise, even the self-doubt that usually clings to me like a shadow. It was just him and me, moving together in a world of our own. His grip was steady, as if he didn't want to let go, and for a brief second, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this meant something more.

But then I remember, a week  without a word from him. No messages, no calls—just an empty void that made me question everything. Maybe it's just part of his culture, I told myself, trying to find some rational explanation. Maybe men in his world don't communicate as often, or maybe he's giving me space. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I was just making excuses for him. The other possibility, the one I didn't want to admit, was that he didn't care as much as I thought. That perhaps he was just an asshole who played with my feelings, leaving me in the dust when the moment was over.

This is exactly why I've always been so careful, why I've avoided getting romantically involved with anyone for so long. I hate feeling this way—vulnerable, exposed, and utterly confused. It's like stepping into quicksand, where the harder I try to make sense of things, the deeper I sink into uncertainty. I've built walls around my heart to protect myself from this very thing, but somehow, he found a way through, and now I'm left wondering if I made a mistake in letting him in.

His family's smiles didn't help either. They watched us as we danced, their faces lit up with warmth and approval. But what did that mean? Were they seeing something between us that wasn't really there, or were they simply being polite, viewing me as an older sister figure in his life? The thought of that stung more than I'd like to admit. I've always been aware of the age difference, but in that moment, it felt like a chasm too wide to bridge. I hate my age sometimes, hate that it makes me feel like I'm not enough, like I'm somehow less deserving of love.

And yet, the impossible lingers in my mind. The idea of being with him feels like a fantasy—one that I can't fully let go of, but also can't bring myself to believe in. It's impossible to have him, I keep telling myself. Impossible for him to love me the way I wish he would. But despite everything, a part of me still hopes. Hopes that the way he held my hand meant something, that the silence was just a fluke, that I'm not fooling myself into believing in something that's not really there.

But hope is a dangerous thing. It's what keeps me tangled up in this mess of emotions, unable to move forward or let go. It's what makes me question every interaction, every look, every smile, wondering if I'm missing some hidden meaning or if I'm just being naive. And as much as I hate to admit it, hope is what scares me the most, because I know that with it comes the risk of disappointment, of heartache, of realizing that I've been holding on to something that was never really mine to begin with.

My heart gave a little lurch as I caught myself staring. I knew I shouldn't, but my eyes had a mind of their own, tracing the line of his jaw, the way his hair fell just perfectly, the ease with which he carried himself. 

And then it happened. He looked down, and our eyes met. For a moment, I was caught, like a deer in headlights. There was no escaping it—he saw me looking at him, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. But instead of turning away, he smiled. That same smile that had always melted my resolve, that could have melted even Venus's heart if she had seen it. It was warm, genuine, and it made my insides twist in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. He is handsome. The kind of handsome that makes heads turn, the kind that girls his age would swoon over without a second thought.

"Maria," he said, his voice soft yet clear above the noise of the party. "I'm so glad you came."

"I wouldn't have missed it," I replied, trying to keep my tone light and my nerves at bay.

His eyes lingered on mine for a moment before he glanced down, almost as if he was gathering his thoughts. "You being here... it means a lot to me," he continued, his voice a little quieter now, just for me to hear. "Thank you for coming. You made this party special."

His words caught me off guard. I could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made my heart do a little flip. Did he really mean that? Or was it just something polite to say? I couldn't tell, and that uncertainty gnawed at me. I wanted to believe that I meant something to him, that my presence really did make a difference. But part of me wondered if I was reading too much into it, if I was letting my emotions cloud my judgment.

I smiled back, trying to match his warmth, even as my mind raced. "I'm just happy to be here," I said, my voice steadier than I felt inside. "Your family is wonderful."

"They are," he agreed, glancing over at the group that was now engaged in lively conversation. "And they like you. A lot."

His words, simple as they were, made my heart skip a beat. There it was again—hope, creeping in when I least expected it. But I tried to keep my composure, not wanting to show how much his words affected me.

"I'm glad," I replied, though my thoughts were anything but simple.

There was a brief pause, a moment where we both seemed to just stand there, caught in whatever was happening between us. I searched his face for some kind of sign, some indication of what he was thinking, but all I found was that same charming smile. It was both a comfort and a torment, making me feel like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn't quite define.

"I've missed seeing you at the coffee shop," he said suddenly, breaking the silence between us.

My heart skipped again, this time with a mix of surprise and confusion. "I've been busy," I managed to say, my voice betraying just a hint of the turmoil inside me.

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I get that. But I still missed you," he said, the honesty in his voice making my pulse quicken.

There it was—the vulnerability I had tried so hard to avoid, now staring me in the face. And yet, despite the warning bells in my mind, I felt a spark of something that I hadn't felt in a long time. Something that made me want to take a chance, even if it meant risking everything.

I really wanted to ask him why didn't he messaged or call me if he really missed me. But for some reason, I couldnt. 

"I missed you too," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid of where this might lead but unable to hold it back any longer. 

His smile grew, that same heart-melting smile that had me wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was something more here than I had dared to hope for. But the questions still lingered, unanswered and unsettling. Was this real, or was I just setting myself up for another fall? Could I allow myself to hope, or was I only inviting heartache?

Before I could get lost in those thoughts, he gently squeezed my hand, pulling me back to the present. "Let's go find my nephew," he said, his tone lightening as he led me toward the crowd.

And just like that, I was swept up in the moment, the doubts and fears momentarily pushed aside by the warmth of his hand in mine, the sound of his laughter, and the feeling that, even if just for now, this was where I wanted to be.