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 ...