Chapter 8
1540 Words
The rain had stopped, but the whole world still smelled like it — that damp, charged, metallic scent that clung to everything after a storm. The air was thick, warm, and humming with leftover electricity.
Tori sat cross-legged on the couch, her hair still slightly frizzy from the humidity, her laptop balanced on her knees. The glow of her inbox lit her face like a pale lantern, each subject line a tiny, insistent tap on her brain.
Then she saw it.
Invitation: Tarot & Energy Workshop – Bali Retreat
Her breath caught.
Her finger hovered before she clicked, like the simple act of opening it might alter the course of her life.
The offer was real. A month-long retreat. All expenses paid. Private villa. Ocean views. Workshops, networking, teaching, everything she’d been working toward for years.
It was everything she’d dreamed of.
Everything she’d worked for.
Everything she wanted — before Vios.
Her throat felt tight. Her chest ached. She closed the laptop halfway, then opened it again, staring at the words until they blurred.
The sound of the bathroom door opening made her look up.
Vios padded into the room, towel slung low over one shoulder, droplets of water sliding from his dark hair to his bare collarbone. He smelled like clean soap and warm skin. His shirt clung to him where it had been dampened by his hair, outlining the lines of his chest in a way that made her pulse jump.
He glanced at her, that easy smile already forming — the one that had started to feel like safety, like home.
“You look serious,” he said, dropping onto the couch beside her, the dip of the cushions pulling her toward him.
She swallowed. “I got an offer,” she said finally. Her voice came out thinner than she intended.
He c****d an eyebrow, towel now draped across his lap. “Good offer or bad offer?”
She turned the laptop toward him. “To teach. In Bali. For a month.”
He blinked. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “That’s… amazing.”
Her laugh was dry, humorless. “Is it?”
His smile faded. “Tori—”
“It feels like a test,” she blurted, snapping the laptop shut like it had personally offended her.
He leaned back, one arm draped over the backrest, watching her with that careful, steady gaze that always made her feel seen — and cornered. “What are you afraid of?”
“That if I go, everything I’ve been building here — with you — falls apart.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Or maybe it gets stronger.”
She shook her head. “You say that like it’s simple.”
He shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. The touch grounded her and made her want to cry all at once.
“You should go,” he said softly.
Her heart squeezed painfully. “I don’t want to leave you.” The confession fell from her lips before she could stop it.
He turned to her, close enough now that she could see the droplets of water still caught in his lashes. His voice was quiet but steady. “Tori, you’ve built something powerful. You help people. You light them up. You deserve to grow.”
Her eyes burned. “But what about us?” she whispered.
He hesitated. Just long enough for her heart to trip over itself.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. His thumb brushed along his jaw as he thought, the movement strangely intimate. “I want to be selfish. I want to ask you to stay. To forget the retreat. To stay right here with me and pretend nothing exists outside these walls.”
She inhaled sharply.
“But I also know,” he continued, his voice rough now, “that if I do that… I’ll be the man who clipped your wings. And I can’t be that man. Not for you.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could catch them.
“I’ve never had someone say that to me,” she said hoarsely.
His hand found hers, warm and solid. “I’ve never meant it until now.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the fridge and the distant drip of rain from the gutters.
“I need time,” she said finally, her voice a shaky whisper.
“You’ve got it,” he murmured.
They didn’t make love that night.
Instead, they held each other in the dark, her head pressed against his chest, his arm around her waist. There was a different kind of intimacy there — raw, terrifying. The kind that tasted like goodbye even though neither of them had said it.
Her fingers curled into his shirt like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.
His lips brushed her hair once, twice, before he finally stilled.
They lay awake longer than either of them admitted, breathing each other in, both silently wondering if this was the beginning of the end — or the start of something stronger.
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Absolutely! Here’s a next chapter that builds from the tension we just created — letting it snap in a bittersweet, passionate, and emotionally loaded way before Tori leaves. This gives your story more fire and intimacy while keeping the emotions front and center.
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The night before.
The house was too quiet.
Even the rain had given up, leaving only the sound of crickets outside and the occasional creak of the wooden floor as it settled for the night.
Tori stood at the kitchen counter, glass of water in her hand, staring at the plane ticket email on her phone for what had to be the hundredth time.
The choice sat in her chest like a stone.
Behind her, she heard soft footsteps — bare feet on cool tile — before Vios appeared in the doorway. He’d changed into loose sweatpants and a thin T-shirt, his hair still a little damp.
“You’re still awake,” he said softly, like he was afraid of scaring her away.
“So are you.” She tried for a smile but failed.
He stepped closer, leaned against the counter beside her. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. Close enough to smell his soap, warm and faintly citrusy.
“You’ve decided?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“You don’t have to tell me tonight.”
She put her phone face-down, exhaling hard. “Vios, this feels like… like we’re in the last chapter of something.”
His jaw flexed. “Or the first chapter.”
Her heart twisted. “I hate that you make it sound that simple.”
“It’s not simple,” he said, and now his voice was lower, rougher. “Nothing about you has ever been simple. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
She turned to him fully then, her back against the counter, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.
The look in his eyes — God. It was too much. Too intense.
“Vios…” she warned softly, though she didn’t know what she was warning him about.
He reached out, almost hesitantly, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “You’ve been in my head all day,” he admitted. “And if you get on that plane tomorrow without me saying this—”
She swallowed. “Saying what?”
“That I want you,” he said simply. “All of you. Even the parts that are scared. Even the parts that might leave.”
Her breath hitched.
“Vios…”
And then she kissed him. Or maybe he kissed her. It didn’t matter who moved first — it just mattered that the world snapped into place the second their lips met.
The kiss was urgent, messy, full of everything they hadn’t said.
His hands framed her face, thumbs stroking over her cheeks like he could memorize the shape of her. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space between them.
Somehow they ended up in the living room, her back against the couch, his mouth trailing down her neck, his breath hot against her skin.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered, though her voice shook.
“I know,” he murmured against her collarbone. “But maybe it changes tonight.”
Clothes became an afterthought — tossed somewhere, forgotten — as they sank into each other like two people starving.
It wasn’t slow this time. It was desperate.
A claiming, a goodbye, a promise all tangled into one.
When it was over, they lay tangled on the couch, the room smelling like rain and skin and everything they couldn’t say out loud.
Vios traced slow circles on her hip with his thumb. “If you go,” he said quietly, “come back to me.”
She turned her face toward him, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I will.”
And for the first time all night, she almost believed it.
- Writer
