We are exhausted, breathless from dancing, and almost crash onto our seats. My heart is still pounding from the adrenaline, from the music, from the rush of emotions I can't quite place. We're sitting too close, our bodies brushing, the air thick with something I don't want to name.
Before I can process it, Cassian's hand cups my face, his grip firm but gentle. His lips crash onto mine, and I respond instinctively, without thought, without hesitation. The kiss is electrifying, a surge of heat and nostalgia rolling through me like a tidal wave.
I've done this before. Not just any kiss, this kiss. The way our lips mold together, the way his hands frame my face, the way my body reacts, like it knows exactly what to do. The familiarity is so strong it nearly knocks the breath out of me.
Cassian pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath heavy. His eyes search mine, confusion laced with something deeper. "This feels familiar," he says, voice husky. "Like something we've done before."
A chill runs down my spine. "I feel it too," I whisper, my fingers unconsciously gripping his shirt.
The moment lingers - too dangerous, too intoxicating. My pulse is erratic, my body aching for something I don't understand. I force myself to snap out of it. We can't do this. Not now. Not like this.
"Cassian, we better leave now. It's late," I say, my voice unsteady.
His jaw tightens, his gaze locked on me as if he's trying to read my soul. I can see it in his eyes, he doesn't want to stop. And neither do I.
But we have to.
Before we lose control completely.
***
I lie in bed, exhausted from the dancing, lightheaded from the alcohol, yet sleep refuses to claim me. My mind is a tangled mess, caught between the past and present, while my body hums with a restless energy I haven't felt in too long.
The drive back home was agonizingly long. Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts and the lingering adrenaline rush. Cassian's gaze kept flicking from the road to me, his eyes unreadable. A few times, he asked if I was okay. I forced a smile and said I was. But was I?
When he finally pulled up in front of my house, he didn't rush to say goodbye. Instead, he reached for my hand, his touch lingering as he brought it to his lips. "Goodnight," I whispered, my voice betraying nothing.
His fingers tightened slightly around mine. "Drive safely," I added, trying to ignore the heat in his stare - the desire, the longing, the silent plea for something unspoken.
Now, lying in bed, I roll onto my side, frustrated. I can't sleep. My body is a mess. My mind even worse.
Was it really him back then? The man from my past? The one who left an imprint so deep I'd spent years trying to erase it?
How come I couldn't recognize him at the altar? Not during the wedding, not through the six months of our miserable marriage?
Is it truly him… or is my mind playing tricks on me?
A shiver runs down my spine. If it's him… what does that mean for us now?
***
Days pass, and I don't see Cassian. Not that I'm looking for him. Exams consume me, and I convince myself he's just as busy. The distance helps. It keeps my thoughts in check, stops me from drowning in the dangerous suspicion clawing at my mind.
I push it away. Again and again.
It's impossible.
Or is it?
That night, nine years ago, is a blur, but some memories never fade. My eighteenth birthday. A night out with friends. I felt invincible, grown. Thought I could handle a few drinks. Thought I was making a bold, reckless choice, until the shots knocked me off my feet.
And then there was him.
A stranger with a mesmerizing voice, a charming smile, a presence that pulled me in before I could think twice. One careless mistake, one night of surrender, and I lost something I could never take back.
I never saw him again.
I never even knew his name.
And when the consequences of that night came to light, I had no explanation to give my parents. No way to tell them who he was. No way to track him down. Just shame. Regret. The weight of a mistake that I've carried for years.
I've never been able to tell my son who his father is. Every time he asks, I weave a vague story, carefully constructed to hide the truth. A father who's away, a man too busy with responsibilities, an important person he might meet someday, but never now.
It's a shame I carry, a deep, unspoken embarrassment that festers inside me. The weight of it is unbearable, yet I've convinced myself that silence is the better option. I can't talk about it, not to my son, not to anyone, and certainly not to Cassian.
How do I even begin? How do I explain that his father was a total stranger I met in a club? That I barely knew his name? That he was the product of a one-night stand?
When I began to show signs of pregnancy with Ray, I cut off my friends, moved out of the hostel we shared, and returned to my parents' house, to hide my shame. I isolated myself, too afraid to face their judgment, too broken to admit what had happened.
And now, years later, every time Ray asks, I smile, I deflect, and I pray he won't ask again. Because the truth is far from the fairy tales children love to hear. And the one person who should know the truth; the man who once despised me, is the last person I want to tell.
Now, suspicion creeps in, whispering in the back of my mind. What if it was him? What if the man I married, the man I've loathed, the man I'm trying so hard to understand… was the same man who changed my life that night?
I can't entertain the thought.
Not until I have proof.
Until then, my lips stay sealed.