The next few days passed beneath a cloud of awkward silence and growing tension.
We went out of our way to avoid each other, speaking only when absolutely necessary. Every accidental glance was quickly broken, every shared space left as soon as the other arrived. It was as though we had silently agreed to pretend that nothing had happened.
Deep down, however, I was immensely grateful that she hadn't reported the incident to anyone. For that alone, I held her in the highest regard. At the same time, my heart was conflicted. I found myself hoping that what had happened between us had not destroyed whatever fragile bond we still shared, and I caught myself wishing we could somehow find our way back to each other—this time without the regret and guilt that had followed.
On the third night after our encounter, I was fast asleep when a gentle knock at my bedroom door pulled me from my dreams.
