An emotion of great delight

I felt true love for her in that moment, felt our souls solder together, knew our lives would be forever forged by a similar pain.
We locked eyes.

I no longer trusted myself, no longer understood my mercurial heart.

My father did not talk like this. He never talked like this. I’d never doubted that he loved me, but he’d never said it out loud. Never, not once in my entire life.

The mere sight of his name in my phone inspired in me a paroxysm of emotion I could not ignore. But one way or another, something always forced me to walk away from him, and I knew—knew, and didn’t know how—that this, the third time, would be the last.

He stared at me, unspeaking, and I felt it, felt everything he did not say. It was there in the way he breathed, in the way he shifted beside me, in the way his gaze dropped, briefly, to my lips. My hands trembled.

Can you come outside?
And I’d run out the door.
“What’s going on?” I’d said, racing toward him. I was out of breath and confused, trying to read the look on his face. “Is everything okay?”
“Wow.” Ali shook his head, smiled. “Okay, I didn’t realize someone had to die in order for me to have a minute alone with you.”
I’d gone suddenly, unearthly still. “What?”
“I just wanted to see you,” he’d said. “Is that okay?”
“Oh.” I could not seem to steady my breathing. “Oh.”
He’d laughed.
“You just”—I frowned—“you mean you don’t have anything important you need to tell me?”
He laughed again. “Not really.”
“You just wanted to see me?”
He smiled at the sky. “Yeah.”
“But we see each other every day.”
Finally, he looked me in the eye. Took a deep breath. “Shadi.”
“Yeah?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, nodded toward the sidewalk. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Walk with me.”

A low-voltage charge had existed between the two of us for as long as I’d been old enough to understand it, and some time last year that charge finally sparked, caught fire. I’d been trying desperately to ignore it.

(…) he was here again, his hands around my face again, his mouth soft and hot and tasting faintly of cigarettes. My knees nearly gave out as he held me, parted my lips with his, kissed me so deeply I cried out, made a sound I didn’t even know existed. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I felt certain I was dreaming, my mind failing me. He kissed my cheek, my chin, his teeth grazed my jaw, his arms drawing me tighter, closer. I felt every inch of him under my hands, felt him move, felt his body harden into a solid weight, a wall of lean muscle. The scent of him, his skin, hit me, confused me. I breathed him in like something essential, the resulting sensation so heady it shattered something vital inside of me, startled my consciousness back to life.

Heat, soft, silk. His hand was under my chin, tilting me up, breaking me open. I didn’t understand, didn’t know what to do with my hands. I had never been touched like this, had never felt anything like this, was defenseless in the face of it. He dragged his fingers down the side of my neck, my shoulder, grabbed at my waist, my sweater pulling, bunching in his fist. My heart was pounding dangerously in my chest, harder and faster than I’d ever felt it and I gasped as he moved against me, gasped as I drowned, went boneless as he broke away, kissed my throat, tasted the salt of my skin. A whisper, a whisper of my name and a hand behind my head and then a sudden, desperate explosion in my chest. He kissed me with a fire I’d never, never, I’d never, I’d gone limp, trembling everywhere, my brain failing to spark a thought.

He was breathing so hard I could see it, could see his chest move up and down, up and down. He stared at me like he’d seen a ghost, witnessed a murder. He was still staring at me when he touched my elbow, traced a line down my arm, took my hand, tugged me forward.
Kissed me.