His voice dropped when he said my name…

I don’t know why it affected me the way it did.
Maybe it was the quiet of the room, the soft yellow light, or the way he stood—leaning against the doorframe like he had all night to spend on just one word: my name.

He said it again, slower this time.
And something in his voice changed.
It wasn’t loud… it wasn’t demanding… it was low, warm, like he was tasting the sound before releasing it.

I looked up, pretending not to feel anything, but he knew. Of course he knew.
His eyes softened, like he could see through every calm expression I tried to hide behind.

“Come here,” he murmured—but not like a command.
More like an invitation he already knew I wouldn’t refuse.

I walked toward him, heartbeat loud enough to embarrass me.
He didn’t touch me.
Didn’t try.
Just watched me come closer like I was something delicate yet dangerous.

When I finally stood in front of him, he tilted his head slightly.
“See?” he said quietly. “This is what your name does to me.”

And in that moment, I realized—
his voice wasn’t the only thing that dropped.

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