Stella Lockheed
So, there I was, cupping Tristan's face like I was starring in some epic romance movie.
His eyes, this deep ocean blue, were doing that thing—speaking a language my teenage brain was desperately trying to decode. If eyes could sigh, his would be competing for the most dramatic exhale.
I could practically hear the violins in the background as we locked eyes. And in that very moment, the world decided to take a little vacation because, who needs reality when you can get lost in Tristan's gaze? Not me, apparently.
The dude was like a master at silent storytelling with those eyes. There was this ache, this longing, like he had a whole library of feelings just waiting for someone to check them out. But hey, who am I to resist a good book, especially when it's written in som
