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"Some moments don't need a name.
They just live quietly beneath your skin forever."
Dear Diary,
There are some evenings that wrap around you
like a favorite sweater —
soft,
familiar,
safe.
Tonight was one of them.
We stayed in the clearing longer than usual.
The stars had begun to appear —
one by one, like shy little promises in the sky.
He lay down on the grass and patted the space beside him.
And I hesitated — not because I didn't want to —
but because it felt like crossing into something sacred.
But I did.
We lay there, shoulder to shoulder,
not touching —
just breathing the same slow rhythm.
He told me about the boy he used to be.
The one who hated silence
because it reminded him of being alone.
And I told him about the girl I am now —
the one who used to mistake walls for safety,
and quiet for invisibility.
And somewhere between his stories and mine,
I felt something shift.
Not in the air.
Not even between us.
But inside me.
Like a lock quietly clicking open.
We turned to face each other —
eyes soft,
smiles slow.
He reached up and gently tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
Not to flirt.
Not to perform.
Just because it was in the way.
And maybe because he wanted to.
The world felt suspended in that moment.
Like the night paused
just to see what we'd do next.
He leaned in —
just slightly.
And I did too.
And for a heartbeat, our foreheads touched.
No kiss.
No rush.
Just the nearness of something almost.
And it was enough.
Because love doesn't always come crashing in.
Sometimes it whispers.
Sometimes it waits.
Sometimes it lies beside you in the grass
and says with a glance,
"I'm here. No hurry."
We walked back holding hands —
not like lovers yet,
but like something quietly on its way.
Till tomorrow,
Wunor 🌙🫧
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