The morning after felt heavier than it should have.
I stood in front of the mirror again, staring at my reflection like it might give me an explanation on what happened last night or what it meant.
I touched my lips once, just to be sure I hadn’t imagined it.
I hadn’t.
It had really happened, Armstrong really kissed me.
At work, everything looked the same, yet nothing felt familiar.
Every click of my heels on the marble floor echoed louder than usual. Every word of greeting from my colleagues sounded distant.
And then there was him.
Armstrong.
Standing by the front desk, dressed in a crisp suit, with a calm voice, that same magnetic pull I was trying to resist.
When his gaze lifted and found mine, the air and everything around us seemed to pause.
He didn’t smile, and I didn’t
