He guides her towards the side of river were they continue their walk, hand in hand and in blissful silence. His spicy Jean Paul Gaultier scent intoxicating and his close proximity turning her insides into a kaleidoscope of butterflies, while he cherishes the feel and touch of her small hand encased in his, all the while yearning for more. She’s nervous and he seemingly brimming with charming confidence. He was her closest friend in middle school and she was his biggest crush. People tore them apart but life later retrieved them.
He stops and points at a certain landmark across the swollen river. She admires its form and mentions the relationship to the adjacent buildings. They gush in awe of each other before he breaks the mood and jokingly asks if she’s compelled to take a photo.
“No, but don’t let me stop you from Instragraming it.”
She giggles cheekily, attempting to walk away and he gently tugs her back to him. She sucks in a deep breath mustering all her courage for what comes next. She moves even closer to him and rests her free hand against his chest. He suddenly misplaces his poise, her propinquity distracting and equally rousing. Their eyes dance and dart together like a teasing waltz. She delays drawing her lips near his despite her bodies protest, savouring the moment and feeling their breathing intensify and their need for each other deepen in synchronicity.