It Wasn’t at First Sight

It wasn’t at first sight. That’s the lie people love — the easy story about eyes locking across a room and everything catching fire in an instant. But that wasn’t us.

At first sight, you were just another face in a place I didn’t want to be — another stranger laughing too loudly at a joke that wasn’t funny, eyes flicking past me like I was furniture. You didn’t see me, and I didn’t care to be seen.

You annoyed me, if anything — that careless grin, that restless energy, the way you leaned too close when you talked to people, like their space was yours by default. You were magnetic in that messy way that draws everyone in — everyone but me. I thought I was immune.

I was wrong.

It started slowly. A brush of your shoulder against mine at the bar. The way you’d catch my eye when you thought I wasn’t listening. A joke thrown my way that made me smirk when I should’ve rolled my eyes.

One night turned into three, turned into every damn night. I’d tell myself I was just bored — that’s all. But I’d watch you anyway — the curve of your mouth when you were about to say something reckless, the shift in your voice when you dropped the jokes and asked real questions.

You’d linger too long in doorways. You’d lean too close when you handed me a drink. I’d smell your cologne on my shirt hours after you left — an uninvited ghost I didn’t know how to shake off.

It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t sparks. It was slow, dangerous warmth that seeped under my skin until I didn’t know where I ended and you began.

One night, the line broke. We were alone — you leaning against the kitchen counter, me pretending not to stare at your mouth as you rambled about nothing. I said something sharp to push you away — you laughed like it was an invitation.

You stepped in close, eyes dark, that grin gone. “Say you don’t want me.”

I didn’t. Couldn’t. The lie stuck in my throat, too heavy to spit out.

So you kissed me.

Not gentle — not soft — just your mouth on mine, hungry and certain and a little angry, like you were punishing me for fighting what we both knew was coming. My hands found your shirt, pulling you closer, closer — until the counter dug into my back and I didn’t care.

It wasn’t at first sight. It was at first touch. First taste. First breath stolen from my lips in the dark. That’s when I knew I was gone for you.

Now I lie to myself every morning, pretend we’re still casual, still nothing. But every time you look at me like I’m something you’d break rules for, I know the truth.

It wasn’t at first sight. But it’s every sight since.