What If, I'll Make You Fly?

He asked her, “What made you fall in love with me?”

She hesitated, not because she didn't know the answer, but because love, for her, had never been a moment of realization—it had been a quiet, ceaseless unfolding.

Maybe it was the flicker of that instant when he had beamed at her with a dimpled-chin greeting, a simple "Hi," yet it had carried a warmth that had lingered far beyond that moment.

Maybe it was when he had said, "I waited three days to meet you," in a voice so casual that it barely held any weight for him. But for her, the ground had slipped beneath her feet, as if the entire universe had shifted to make space for those words inside her heart.

It wasn’t infatuation, nor was it mere admiration. It was something deeper, something unshakable. He was not a whirlwind that made her lose herself—he was the stillness in which she found herself. The moment of peace in which she could hear her own heartbeat inside her wrist.

Sometimes, in life, it becomes essential to stop mid-way—to inhale the freshness of existence, to count each breath, to twin with one’s own smile. And for her, he was that very breath, the inverted upward curve of her lips, stretching to her ears, injecting a twinkling serenity into her eyes.

That day, she unknowingly defined love.

"Love is this—when you begin to believe in God just by witnessing someone, by a mere glance at them. It is pure, divine, sacred—a devotion that defies reason."

She knew what she felt for him was beyond life itself. She understood the lines that shouldn't be crossed, yet she worshipped the love her soul carried for him. There was something in his eyes—something sensational, something that made her surrender all the logic of life. And she embraced that surrender with pride.

Loving him did not make her weak. It strengthened the very core of her being. It made her fearless, boundless, relentless. She did not fear confessing that he had unknowingly filled the void of love in her life. She did not need validation. Her love was not a question—it was the answer to her own existence.

Every moment with him, whether in reality or in dreams, was worth waiting for.

That evening, she asked him to hold her hand and make her dance.

He turned, his gaze locking onto hers with an unreadable expression before his lips curled into an amused smile. He didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he had grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer—so close that not even the wind could weave between them.

Her breath hitched. Their eyes met, his gaze unreadable yet searing through her very soul. Nervousness wove through her breathing, yet a part of her reveled in the closeness, in the way his presence consumed her entire existence.

She dropped her gaze, unable to hold the intensity of his eyes.

And then he whispered, his breath a gentle caress against her ear—

"What if I make you fly higher? The highest?"

A shiver coursed through her, a silent tremor of emotions she couldn't name. Slowly, she raised her eyelids, her heart leaping—

And she woke up.

It had been a dream.

She blinked, still lost in the lingering warmth of his touch, the echo of his words reverberating in her soul. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she turned to her side, her fingers tracing the emptiness beside her.

Yes, in her dreams, he was entirely hers.

And perhaps, that was enough.

For now.