Almost

The world around us seemed to wake as spring unfolded, breathing life into every corner of the city. Blossoms replaced barren branches, filling the air with a sweet fragrance that made even the heaviest of thoughts feel lighter. With each day that passed, I felt my art evolve in ways I hadn't thought possible, my lines and colors more vibrant, each piece more daring than the last. And as my art grew, so did my connection with Jordan.

We met at the park one warm afternoon, our usual spot under a sprawling cherry blossom tree that was just beginning to bloom. Jordan brought coffee, as he always did, and I had my sketchbook and a few paints, intending to capture the blossoming landscape before us. It was one of those idyllic days where the sky stretched endlessly blue and the soft breeze carried hints of the season's promise.

"I love how the blossoms almost look like they're glowing," I murmured, dipping my brush into a pastel pink.

"They are," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. "Like they've been holding back all winter, waiting for this moment."

I looked at him, surprised by the poetry in his words. "Since when did you get so philosophical?"

He grinned. "I guess you're a good influence."

As I turned my attention back to the paper, I felt his gaze lingering on me, a gentle warmth that somehow made the day even brighter. There was a quiet comfort in his presence that I had grown to cherish, a feeling that allowed me to pour more of myself into my art without fear.

"What are you drawing today?" he asked, leaning over to peek at my work.

"It's not finished yet, but I want to capture how the trees look today—how delicate they are, almost fleeting," I said, unsure how to explain the feeling. "Like… it's beautiful, but you know it won't last."

Jordan nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe that's what makes it beautiful. Knowing it's temporary."

The truth in his words struck me. So much of what I felt for him was tied to that same sense of impermanence—like each moment was precious because it might vanish as quickly as it had come. But lately, the hope of something lasting had begun to tug at me, making me wonder if maybe, just maybe, this was different.

As we settled into a comfortable silence, I let my brush glide across the page, creating swirls of pinks and whites that captured the ethereal quality of the blossoms. I could feel Jordan's eyes on my work, his quiet admiration fueling my inspiration.

After a while, I set down my brush and looked at him. "What do you think?"

He studied the painting, a smile playing on his lips. "It's beautiful. You captured it perfectly."

"Thank you," I said softly, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "I've never felt this… inspired before."

"Maybe it's because you're letting yourself feel more," he suggested, his voice tender. "You're not just painting what you see—you're painting what you feel."

I looked down, his words settling into me. He was right. I was finally letting my heart into my work, embracing the vulnerability that came with it. And somehow, it felt like freedom.

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing under the cherry blossoms, our conversation drifting between serious topics and lighthearted banter. As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over everything, I felt an undeniable urge to hold onto this moment, to somehow keep it from slipping away.

Jordan must have felt it too because he reached out, brushing a stray petal from my shoulder. His hand lingered for a moment, his fingers grazing my skin, sending a jolt of warmth through me.

"Avery," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I feel like I've known you forever."

My heart pounded as I looked up at him, his gaze intense and filled with something unspoken. The air between us seemed to shift, charged with an energy that was both exhilarating and terrifying. I could feel myself leaning closer, drawn to him by an invisible thread that felt impossible to resist.

His hand moved to my cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along my skin. I felt myself melt into his touch, every inch of me aching to close the small gap between us.

We were so close I could feel his breath, warm against my skin, his eyes searching mine as if asking a question neither of us dared to voice. I held my breath, the world around us fading until all that remained was him—his hand on my cheek, his eyes locked on mine, the quiet promise in the space between us.

Just as I leaned in, ready to close the distance, a loud bark shattered the moment. Startled, we both turned to see a dog bounding towards us, its owner calling after it. Jordan chuckled, and the spell broke, leaving a lingering warmth that made my cheeks flush.

He pulled back, his hand slipping away, but his gaze remained soft, his expression a mix of amusement and something deeper. "Looks like we have an audience," he joked, nodding toward the dog, now sniffing at our bags.

I laughed, feeling a blend of disappointment and relief, though the ache of that almost-kiss still pulsed in the back of my mind. We gathered our things as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the park. But even as we walked side by side, the tension from that fleeting moment remained, a quiet promise hanging in the air between us.

As we said goodbye that evening, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between us—that in the almost-kiss, we had crossed an invisible threshold, stepping into something deeper, something unknown. And as I watched him walk away, I felt a thrill of anticipation, knowing that whatever came next, it would be worth the wait.