Poison of love

Jessica

Leyla asks me while we're having lunch at one of her restaurants in the city: "What will you do this weekend?"
"I'm going to visit my mother," I reply without hesitation.
"Do you miss her a lot?" she adds, with an understanding look.
"Yes, very much. We've never been apart for so long."
Finally, the weekend arrives, and I feel a sense of relief at the idea of spending time with my mother. It's been more than two weeks since I've been home, and I desperately need to disconnect from classes, to find some peace.
Leyla can't help but ask, with that characteristic curiosity of hers: "And Mason? When are you seeing him?"
I try to keep my tone neutral, though my embarrassment is palpable. "This afternoon."
She immediately throws out her warning, joking but not entirely: "Be careful! If he behaves badly, I'll take care of him." She's always protective when it comes to Mason, and I still can't fully understand her concern. There's something she's hiding, and I'm determined to find out what it is.
As we approach the restaurant exit, Leyla, without thinking twice, tells Stephan, the cashier: "Put everything on my tab." I'm surprised and a little uncomfortable. "What? No, Leyla, really, it's not necessary."
She laughs, with that confidence that defines her: "Jess, it's my restaurant."
"You're embarrassing me like this," I murmur, trying to protest.
"Don't worry about it," she reassures me. She waves to Stephan with a familiar gesture: "Bye Stephan, see you next time."
Leyla comes from a family of entrepreneurs, and her confidence shows in everything she does. They own about a dozen restaurants across London, and her mother runs one of the city's most renowned fashion houses. Despite all this, she always manages to maintain a disarming simplicity and protectiveness towards the people she cares about.

As I prepare for my outing with Mason, Leyla's words continue to echo in my mind. Why is she so protective? I can't find an explanation, and that confuses me. But for now, I need to focus on Mason. He arrives on time, with that disarming smile that always manages to put me at ease.
The afternoon passes peacefully; we walk around the city, stopping at a small hidden café for a coffee. I feel comfortable with him, but I can't help noticing that, from time to time, he seems lost in thought, as if he has something important on his mind.
"What are you doing tonight?" he asks at one point, with a curious expression.
"I'm going to my mother's. I'll be back tomorrow evening," I reply calmly.
"Ah, a family weekend!" he mutters, but there's a slight uneasiness in his voice.
"Yeah, and what about you?" I ask in return.
"I have to attend a work dinner with my father and some businessmen, all strictly in suits and ties," he says with a touch of irony.
"You don't seem particularly excited," I observe, trying to lighten the mood.
"You have no idea how boring it can be," he replies, almost exasperated.
"Well, then don't go if you don't feel like it," I suggest, as if it were a simple thing.
"You don't know my father," he counters. "He's selfish. He doesn't care about what I want."
I stay silent, watching his expression. It's clear he's carrying a weight, a sense of obligation he can't hide. I feel bad seeing him like this, but I also feel inadequate, as if I don't know how to help him.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude," I say, feeling the need to apologize.
"Don't worry, I'm used to it," he responds with a resignation that makes me reflect. What's the true nature of his relationship with his father? There seems to be a deep rift, something that makes him feel trapped in dynamics he can't control.
Then, unexpectedly, he offers: "If you want, I can drive you to your mother's before the dinner."
"Thank you, but I've already booked a taxi," I reply, trying to hide a bit of embarrassment.
"Are you sure?" he insists, with a sweetness that I find endearing.
"Yes, maybe another time," I smile, trying to close the subject.
When he drops me off at my dorm, he surprises me with a light kiss on the cheek. His eyes remain fixed on mine, more intense than usual.
"Jess, can I ask you something?" His voice is low, almost hesitant.
"Sure, tell me," I reply, curious.
"Are you and Leyla very close friends?" he asks, with a serious tone I didn't expect. The question catches me off guard. There's something in his gaze that suggests more, a hidden concern or perhaps a jealousy I can't fully decipher yet. I wonder what's behind this sudden interest.
"Yes, why do you ask?" I question, curious, while trying to read his expression.
"Nothing, just curious," he answers, but in his eyes, I see a worry I still can't fully understand. Trying to hide the emotion rising inside me, I tell him: "Thanks for the wonderful day."
"I really enjoyed it," he replies, with a look so intense it takes my breath away for a moment. He's incredibly attractive in that gray t-shirt that fits him perfectly, highlighting his chest, and with his slightly tousled hair that gives him a casual air. Every time I look at him, my body reacts, I tremble slightly, and my thoughts start to overlap.
"I had a great time too," I admit with a trembling voice.
He moves closer, takes my hand, and places it on his chest. "Can you feel it? It's my heart beating," he whispers, staring into my eyes. I can feel the strong beat under the palm of my hand, and for a moment, I remain silent, savoring that intimate moment. Our lips move closer, almost touching, slow, suspended in a moment that seems endless.
"Oops, sorry," Leyla suddenly mumbles, appearing in the doorway. Mason pulls away, visibly irritated: "Leyla, your timing is perfect, as always."
She apologizes, a bit embarrassed: "I'm sorry, I didn't think you were right behind the door." We step into the room, and I try to catch my breath while I start packing my things. "Don't worry, nothing was happening between us," I reply, even though the blush on my cheeks betrays me.
"Nothing? That's an understatement, you were about to kiss," Leyla exclaims, throwing a pillow at me from her bed.
"Hey, stop it," I respond, laughing, though the embarrassment lingers.
"I have to go, the taxi is arriving," I finally say, trying to end the scene. I still feel a little shaken, as if there had been an interruption in the natural flow of something. As I head towards the taxi, I feel someone gently grab my arm. I turn around and find Mason, with a serious, almost vulnerable look.
"Jess, wait," he says urgently.
"What's up?" I ask, while my heart beats faster.
"I just wanted to say that this day meant a lot to me. I've never felt so comfortable with someone," he admits, pausing briefly, as if searching for the right words. "I'd really like to see you again."
I nod, holding back a smile that's trying to break through. "I'd like that too," I simply reply.
The taxi arrives, and the driver lowers the window. "Miss White?" he asks, in a professional tone.
"Yes, that's me," I answer as he opens the door and puts my suitcase in the trunk. Mason watches me as if he doesn't want to let me go, and I feel a strange sadness growing inside me.
"See you soon then," I murmur, trying to hide the hint of melancholy in my voice.
"See you," he replies with a sweet smile.
I close the taxi door, and as we drive away, I see him still standing there, motionless, his gaze fixed on me until I disappear from his sight. I lean back against the seat and close my eyes, letting the memories of the day envelop me. His smile, his touch, and that way he made me feel special. A feeling that, despite the short time spent together, seems to have left a deep mark.