MORE THAN JUST A MOMENT

THE FEELINGS THAT LINGERS

Chapter 10

It had been days, yet my skin still tingled when I thought about that night.

Everything had changed between us and somehow, nothing had. Micah was still Micah. Gentle. Stubborn. Playful. He still stole the last of my fries, still walked me to the bus stop like the world might crumble if he didn’t, and still texted me at midnight like he didn’t know what sleep meant.

But something was different. I felt it in the way his fingers lingered longer against mine. The way his voice softened when he said my name. And the way my heart now reached for him like it knew something my mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

We hadn’t talked about that night. Not really. There were shy smiles, fingers brushing beneath coffee tables, and Micah humming some silly song when I’d look away flustered. But no big talk.

Maybe we didn’t need to. Maybe we were too afraid to break the quiet magic that had settled between us.

Today, we weren’t supposed to see each other. I was off work, holed up at home with a cup of tea and a blanket I had no intention of sharing. The sky was its usual soft gray, and the breeze whispered against the window like it had a secret to tell.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Micah: “Come outside. I miss you.”

No emojis. No punctuation. Just him. Direct, warm, impossible to ignore.

I didn’t even bother changing out of my oversized T-shirt. I slid on a hoodie, tied my hair back in a lazy bun, and dashed out like someone who knew exactly where she belonged.

He was leaning against his car, hoodie on, hands tucked into his pockets, that boyish smirk that always did a number on my knees stretched across his face.

“You came,” he said.

“You said you missed me,” I replied.

He didn’t say anything after that. Just opened his arms and let me fall into them.

We ended up at a hidden spot near the edge of the city — a place he said he used to come to when life got too loud. There was a view of the skyline, the river glinting beneath it like someone had melted silver across the horizon.

We sat on the hood of his car, shoulders touching, silence humming between us.

“You ever think about forever?” Micah asked, voice low.

I glanced at him. “Forever is a long time.”

He smiled, eyes still on the skyline. “Yeah. But I think… if you find the right person, even a moment can feel like forever.”

I looked down at my hands. “You think this is just a moment?”

He turned to me. “No. I think it’s more than that. I just don’t know how to say it without messing it up.”

I felt his fingers brush mine, lacing them slowly, like he was giving me time to pull away. I didn’t.

“I don’t want to rush you, Rina,” he said. “I just want to be beside you… in whatever way you’ll let me.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m already letting you in more than I ever thought I would,” I whispered.

He kissed the side of my head soft, lingering, reverent. “Then I promise I’ll be careful with every part of you.”

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Micah’s POV

The way she looked at me just now like I mattered, like I wasn’t broken God, it undid something in me.

Rina made everything feel light again. Like maybe, for once, I could be selfish. Want something. Want someone. She didn’t know it, but her presence patched holes in places I didn’t even realize were bleeding.

Then my phone buzzed in my back pocket, the vibration sharp and persistent. I knew that ringtone. Knew it too well.

Dr. Marshall.

Damn it.

I stood quickly, brushing my hands on my jeans as casually as I could. “Give me a sec,” I said, not meeting her eyes. “Work thing.”

She nodded, hugging her knees closer to her chest, eyes watching the skyline.

I walked a few steps away, phone pressed to my ear, heart already thudding with that old dread.

“Micah,” Dr. Marshall’s voice was calm too calm. “Got your test results.”

I didn’t speak. Just waited.

“There’s been some progression.”

The world around me seemed to blur. The skyline, the breeze, even Rina’s soft silhouette behind me everything just… dulled.

“How bad?” I forced out, voice tight.

“Liver markers are off again. The scan shows the tumor’s active. We’ll need to discuss treatment. Soon.”

I rubbed my hand over my face, grounding myself. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for this conversation, for chemo again, for the weakness, the weight loss, the worry in my mother’s eyes. And definitely not ready to tell Rina. Not yet.

Not when she just started looking at me like I could be part of something real.

“Alright,” I finally said. “Just… text me an appointment. I’ll be there.”

“I know this is hard,” Dr. Marshall added gently. “But you need to let someone in. Don’t do this alone again.”

Too late.

I ended the call, pocketed the phone, and took a deep breath. Put on the smile I’d perfected for years the one that said I’m fine, nothing’s wrong, don’t ask.

Then I turned back to her. My light.

She looked up at me with that soft smile of hers, completely unaware that I might be running out of time.

And I swore to myself: I wouldn’t let her find out. Not yet.

Let her fall in love with the now. I’d deal with the later.