They finished their coffee in silence—the kind that didn't feel empty, only burdened. Outside the café, the night had thickened, the city lights of Italy blurring into distant constellations as they slid back into Akon's car.
He drove without speaking.
The road climbed steadily, winding upward through darkness, the city slowly shrinking beneath them. An hour passed. Maybe more. Sharon lost track of time, watching the headlights carve narrow truths into the road ahead.
When Akon finally pulled over, the engine ticking softly as it cooled, the world opened up.
A mountain overlook.
Below them, the valley lay drowned in shadow, lights scattered like fallen stars. The wind was sharper here, colder, carrying the scent of stone and pine.
"Come with me," Akon said quietly.
She did.
They stood near the edge, not close enough to be reckless, but close enough to feel the vastness pressing in on all sides. Akon's hands were shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders tense, as though holding himself together required effort.
"My parents died when I was young," he said suddenly. "I never talk about it."
Sharon turned toward him, instinctively gentle. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," he interrupted, voice low. "Because if I don't say it now, I never will."
He stared out into the darkness. "There was an accident. Fast. Violent. No goodbyes. One moment they existed, the next… they didn't." His jaw tightened. "I learned early that everything you love can disappear without warning."
Her chest ached. She stepped closer, her hand hovering before resting lightly against his arm.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Akon looked down at her hand as if it were something sacred. "That's why I'm like this," he said. "Why I hold on too tightly. Why I watch instead of touch. Because when I feel something… it consumes me."
His gaze lifted to hers, raw and unguarded. "And I feel you, Sharon. More than I should. More than is safe."
The wind surged between them, tugging at her hair, but she barely noticed. Her heart thundered, instincts warring with fear.
"I don't know when it happened," he continued. "Or how. But you're in me now. In every quiet moment. Every shadow. I don't want to protect you from afar anymore. I want—" He stopped, breath uneven. "I want you."
The words landed like a confession and a curse.
Sharon didn't answer.
She couldn't.
Silence stretched, heavy and electric. Akon stepped closer, slow, deliberate, giving her every chance to pull away. She didn't.
His hands came up—one settling at her waist, the other brushing her hair back, reverent, trembling. "You don't have to say anything," he murmured. "Just don't lie to me."
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in, and this time, the kiss was different—deeper, darker, threaded with grief and need. It wasn't gentle. It was restrained hunger, mouths moving like they were learning each other through pain.
Sharon's fingers curled into his coat, pulling him closer despite herself. He wrapped his arms around her fully now, holding her like she might vanish if he didn't. Her cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat wild beneath her ear.
For a moment, the world fell away.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breath warm against her lips. "Say something," he whispered.
Sharon closed her eyes.
She stayed silent.
Not because she felt nothing—but because she felt too much.
Akon nodded slowly, understanding settling into his expression like a bruise. He didn't push. Didn't demand. He simply held her there at the edge of the mountain, where love and loss blurred into the same dark promise.
And somewhere deep inside Sharon, something irreversible shifted—quietly, dangerously—binding her to him in ways neither of them yet understood.