Soft Destruction
789 Words
There is something dangerous about being kissed by someone you’ve spent months imagining.
Because once imagination becomes reality, your heart stops protecting itself.
After the competition, everything between Liam and me softened. Not in intensity—God no, the intensity only grew—but in fear. We stopped dancing around what had happened that morning. The kiss existed now, alive between us, impossible to ignore.
And somehow, that made him gentler.
He texted me more openly after that. Good morning messages. Random thoughts during the day. Small check-ins that made me feel like I lived quietly in the corners of his mind.
> “Did you eat?”
“The kids were asking about you today.”
“You looked really happy this morning.”
That last message stayed with me longer than it should have.
Because I was happy.
Terrifyingly happy.
The kind of happy that sneaks in before heartbreak. The kind that makes you trust too quickly.
I should have been careful.
But Liam made caution feel unnecessary.
A week passed like that—soft conversations, loaded eye contact, lingering hugs that neither of us wanted to let go of. Nothing officially defined, but everything emotionally tangled.
And then came Friday afternoon.
The school had emptied earlier than usual. Rain pressed softly against the windows, turning the hallways gray and quiet. I was packing away art supplies when Liam appeared by the classroom door.
“You’re still here?” he asked.
“So are you.”
He smiled faintly and stepped inside. “Touché.”
There was something different about him that day. Not distant exactly… just thoughtful. Heavy.
“You okay?” I asked carefully.
He leaned against one of the desks and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”
My stomach tightened instantly.
That answer never leads anywhere good.
He rubbed his face before looking at me again. “Tamara… have you ever wanted something so badly but also been terrified of ruining it?”
I stayed quiet.
Because yes.
Him.
“All week I’ve been thinking about us,” he admitted. “About what we’re doing. About how easy it is with you.”
Easy.
That word wrapped itself around my heart.
“But?” I whispered.
His eyes flickered downward.
“But I’m scared.”
There it was.
Not rejection.
Not regret.
Fear.
And somehow that hurt more.
“I just got out of a relationship,” he continued carefully. “And even though things ended long before they officially ended… I still feel guilty sometimes. I still feel confused. And then there’s you…” He laughed softly, almost painfully. “You make me feel too much.”
The room felt smaller suddenly.
I crossed my arms over myself, trying to protect something fragile inside me. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to hurt you.”
People always say that right before they do.
I looked away before he could see the shift in my expression.
“You know what the worst part is?” I asked quietly.
“What?”
“I would probably let you hurt me anyway.”
Silence.
Heavy. Honest silence.
When I looked back at him, something in his face changed. Like my words reached deeper than he expected. He stepped closer slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wound.
“Tamara…”
“No, it’s okay,” I cut in with a weak laugh. “I know this is messy.”
“It’s not just messy.” His voice lowered. “It’s real.”
My breath caught.
Real.
That word again.
His hand brushed against mine lightly, barely there, but enough to unravel me completely. “You deserve someone who’s certain,” he murmured.
“Are you uncertain about me?”
His answer came too fast.
“No.”
The intensity in his voice made my chest ache.
“I’m uncertain about myself,” he admitted. “There’s a difference.”
And that was the tragedy of us.
He wanted me.
I knew he did.
But wanting and readiness were two completely different things.
Rain continued tapping against the windows while we stood there suspended in something neither of us knew how to navigate. I wanted him to pull me closer. I wanted him to kiss me again until all the overthinking disappeared.
But instead, he rested his forehead lightly against mine.
No kiss.
No reckless decisions.
Just warmth.
Just restraint.
And somehow… that almost broke me more.
Because restraint meant this mattered.
“Tell me we’re okay,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes.
“We’re okay.”
But deep down, I wasn’t sure if we were becoming something beautiful…
Or slowly destroying each other in the softest way possible.
- Writer
