Zara
I couldn't get the memory of that kiss out of my head.
No matter how hard I tried to bury it under layers of homework, uniform ironing, or the endless mindless chatter of classmates, it kept resurfacing. Haunting me in the quiet moments between dawn bells and breakfast announcements.
Why did he kiss me?
Why did it feel like my entire soul splintered under that touch?
I hated him for it. Hated the way his lips claimed mine without permission. Hated the furious, twisted longing that rose in my chest when his thumb brushed over my bottom lip. But more than anything, I hated how it left a mark on something deep within me. A mark that throbbed with yearning whenever I remembered his scent. Or the feel of his hair slipping through my fingers as I clung to him for one foolis
