Unspoken Desires

     I never thought I’d be here—staring at the polished, black-glass doors of Echelon Atelier, feeling the thrum of my pulse in my fingertips. But here I am, one breath away from stepping into a world I barely understand, yet somehow, always knew would call to me. Fashion wasn’t a choice for me; it was something I fell into, a consequence of divorce and an urge to start fresh. But now, as I stand outside, a single thought occupies my mind: Lucia Molina.

     I try not to think of her too often—her voice, sharp as a blade when she talks business, and the way she carries herself, like she’s never doubted a single decision in her life. But there are other things about her, things I dare not acknowledge. The way her perfume lingers in the air long after she’s left the room. The way her eyes meet mine, and for a fleeting second, it’s almost like she sees through me.

     I’ve always been attracted to women, but my family never saw that. They never allowed me the space to feel it, let alone act on it. And even now, after everything with Shahou, after trying to pick up the pieces of my life and move on, I can’t shake the pull towards Lucia. She’s everything I’ve never been allowed to have, yet the very thing I want.

     I shouldn’t be feeling this. She’s my boss, for God’s sake. I’m here to work, not to waste time daydreaming about things I can never have.

     But when the door opens, and she walks past me with that graceful, calculated stride, I can’t help the way my breath catches in my throat.

     I force myself to look away from the door, breathing deeply as I try to steady my nerves. My fingers hover over the stack of fabric samples on my desk, but I can’t bring myself to focus on anything. Every sound in the office seems to magnify—her heels clicking against the floor, the soft murmur of her voice with a colleague—until it all drowns out and there’s only her. Only Lucia.

     It’s ridiculous. We’ve barely exchanged more than a few words, but the way she carries herself… it stirs something in me I thought I had buried long ago.

     I try to shake the thought away, but it lingers—insistent, like a whisper that won’t be ignored. The image of Lucia, standing so close to me, her sharp eyes catching mine, her lips slightly parted in that way she does when she’s focused. It’s an image that feels almost forbidden, like something I should never even allow myself to imagine, let alone indulge in.

     But the more I try to push it down, the more vivid it becomes. Her lips, full and soft, just the right amount of curve—god, I can practically feel them, pressed against mine, warm and inviting. The thought sends a wave of heat through me, a rush of desire so strong it almost takes my breath away.

     I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the tension in my chest build. I see her again, this time in the soft glow of the office lights, her expression unreadable as she steps closer. My heart races as I imagine the space between us shrinking, the slow pull of gravity drawing me in. A single breath between us, then—

     I snap my eyes open, realizing I’ve been holding my breath. My fingers tremble slightly as they rest on the fabric in front of me. The thought of her lips—of kissing her—feels like a betrayal, but it’s impossible to ignore. I’ve never felt this way before, never even dared to entertain such thoughts. Yet here I am, lost in a daydream I can’t escape.

     The sudden click of heels brings me back to reality. My head snaps up to see Lucia standing in the doorway, her eyes trained on me with that sharp, calculating look she always carries.

     “Perveen,” she says, her voice smooth, almost soothing, “which fabrics did you choose for the presentation?”

     For a moment, I can’t speak. Her presence is like a force field in the room, closing in on me, and my heart hammers in my chest as I search for the right words. My eyes drop to the fabric swatches scattered across the desk, but all I can see are the lines of Lucia’s blouse, the way it clings to her body, the subtle curve of her collarbone. And then, my mind drifts back to the image of her lips, that soft curve, that irresistible pull.

     “I… I’ve narrowed it down,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I shift uncomfortably, my fingers trembling as I push the fabrics toward her. But it’s not the fabrics I want to show her right now. It’s everything else.

     Lucia steps closer, leaning over the desk to inspect the fabrics, her warmth radiating towards me. The scent of her perfume—a heady mix of jasmine and something deeper—fills my senses, and I feel a heat rise in me, spreading from my chest to my limbs. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the growing tightness in my body.

      Her fingers brush mine as she reaches for the samples. The touch is accidental, I tell myself. Just a brush of skin, nothing more. But my breath catches, and something deep within me stirs—something I can’t ignore anymore.

     Before I can stop myself, I move.

     The thought of her lips—those soft, full lips I can’t stop fantasizing about—drives me forward, my body acting on instinct. My hand slides up her arm, tentative at first, but then, with a sudden rush of daring, I pull her closer.

     Lucia stumbles slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes search mine, wide, almost disbelieving, as if waiting for me to back off. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I can’t stop. I don’t want to.

     “Perveen,” she breathes, her voice low, almost a whisper, but her body leans into mine. Her lips are so close now, too close to ignore, and I don’t care about the consequences anymore. The last shred of restraint snaps.

     I kiss her.

     It’s nothing like I imagined, not soft or tentative. It’s fierce, desperate, like everything I’ve been holding in for years finally finds its outlet. Her lips are warm, and when she responds—when she presses back against me with equal force—I feel my world tilt.

      I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding back, but now that it’s happening, I’m consumed by it. By her.

     The kiss is electric, sending a shock of warmth through me, and I can’t pull away. I’ve never felt anything like this—not with Shahou, not with anyone. The way Lucia’s lips move against mine, the heat of her body pressed so close to mine, it’s like I’m drowning in it. Her hands slide up my arms, and I feel the firm pressure of her touch, as though she’s trying to anchor me here with her.

     I want to stop, to pull away and tell myself this is a mistake. But my hands—my hands betray me. They move of their own accord, threading through her hair, pulling her even closer. I feel the soft strands beneath my fingers, the way her hair smells—subtle, intoxicating.

     Lucia’s breath is shallow when we finally break the kiss, but neither of us moves away. Her forehead rests against mine, and her eyes are dark with something I can’t quite read. “Perveen…” she whispers, her voice a little hoarse, as if she’s fighting the same battle I am.

     “Don’t,” I murmur, my voice tight. “Don’t say anything.”

     I don’t want her to stop. I don’t want to hear her reason, her logic. Not now.

     Her fingers trail down my back, just grazing the skin beneath my blouse, sending a shiver through me. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, but the heat of it makes my heart race. I feel something stir between us, something more than just attraction. It’s raw, urgent, and I’m helpless against it.

     “I shouldn’t…” she starts again, her lips brushing my ear as she pulls back slightly. I can feel her breath on my skin, and it makes my pulse spike.

     But I don’t want to hear it. “Neither should I,” I reply, my voice low and urgent, as I tilt my head up to kiss her again.

     This time, I feel the weight of her hands as they settle on my hips, pulling me closer still. The world outside of this small bubble disappears. There’s only the feeling of her body against mine, her lips warm and soft, her hands pressing against the curve of my waist. My skin is on fire, and every second feels like it might slip away, leaving me with nothing but a memory.

     Her kiss is slow now, deliberate, as if we’re both testing the waters, each moment more intoxicating than the last. The way she tilts her head, deepening the kiss just slightly, has my mind spinning.

     I can feel the faintest tremor in her hands, too—she’s as affected by this as I am. That realization, that we’re both walking this tightrope between desire and reality, makes it even harder to stop.

     But we don’t have to.

     In this space, in this moment, nothing else matters.

     We break the kiss slowly, both of us reluctant but unable to deny the reality of what just happened. My breath is coming in ragged gasps, and I can feel her pulse beneath my fingertips as I hold her for just a moment longer.

     Lucia pulls back first, her eyes flickering with something I can’t quite understand. There’s a moment of silence between us, charged, heavy with the weight of what we just shared. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come.

     Without a word, Lucia steps back, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. She turns toward her office, her back to me as she walks away, her movements graceful but deliberate, as though nothing happened.

     But everything happened.

     I stand there, rooted to the spot, my body still humming with the heat of her touch. My chest feels tight, and my hands tremble as I clutch the edge of the desk. The sounds of the office feel muffled now, as if I’m underwater, all except for the pounding of my own heart in my ears.

     What did I just do?

     I blink, and my mind races, replaying the moments—Lucia’s lips against mine, the way her hands felt on my body, the heat, the urgency. I can still taste her on my lips, still feel the soft pressure of her body against mine. But reality crashes over me like a cold wave.

     I… kissed my boss.

     Not just kissed her—kissed her. I can’t stop the wave of panic that surges through me, swallowing any rational thought. What if this ruins everything? What if she’s just playing with me? What if she thinks I’m just another confused, desperate woman looking for an escape?

     I try to steady my breath, but my hands are still shaking. My thoughts spin in circles, and my stomach churns with a knot of anxiety. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I shouldn’t have let it happen.

     I push the fabric samples aside, my mind unable to focus on anything but the kiss, the touch, the ache of wanting something I shouldn’t want. And yet, even as my heart races in panic, there’s another part of me—the part that’s been buried for years—that wants more. Wants her.

     I run a hand through my hair, desperate to regain some composure, but the sharp feeling of guilt digs into me like a knife. What the hell am I going to do now?

     I press my palms flat against the desk, trying to steady myself, but my body still trembles. My lips still burn from Lucia’s kiss, and the weight of what just happened sits heavy on my chest. I should be thinking about the consequences—how this will affect my job, my life—but all I can think about is how it felt. How she felt.

     And maybe… why it felt so different.

     A familiar knot tightens in my stomach, one I’ve spent my whole life pushing down.

     I was never physically attracted to Shahou. Not the way a wife is supposed to be. I loved him, or at least, I thought I did. I wanted to be the perfect wife, the devoted mother. But when it came to being his wife in every way, it was never natural for me. I had to force it, had to create an illusion even for myself.

     I remember the nights I would lie in bed, willing my body to respond to his touch, but nothing. The only way I could get through it was by closing my eyes and thinking about women—beautiful women, women who made my pulse race in a way he never could. I started suggesting we watch porn, hoping that if I could focus on the women, I could at least make it seem like I wanted him. And for a while, it worked. It was enough to keep the illusion intact.

     But I always knew.

     I knew when I was a teenager, watching Bollywood actresses on the screen and feeling my stomach flutter in ways that confused and terrified me. I knew when I saw women walking down the street and had to stop myself from staring too long. I knew when I heard my family talk about people like me—about how unnatural, how shameful it was—and I swallowed my truth whole, locking it away before it could betray me.

      I told myself I couldn’t be anything but straight. Not as an Afghan woman. Not as a wife. Not as a mother. Even after moving to America, where women could love women openly, I never let myself go there.

     But then I kissed Lucia.

     And now, standing here, my chest rising and falling too fast, my hands still shaking from the intensity of it all, I can’t lie to myself anymore.

     This wasn’t just an impulse.

     This wasn’t just a mistake.

     This was something real.

     And that terrifies me more than anything else.

     I can’t be here anymore.

     I don’t even remember packing up my things or mumbling some excuse about needing to leave early, but before I know it, I’m outside, stepping onto the Manhattan sidewalk as if fresh air will somehow erase what just happened.

     It doesn’t.

     The ghost of Lucia’s lips still lingers on mine, and my entire body feels like it’s been rewired—hyperaware, oversensitive, burning in places I didn’t even realize could burn from a kiss. I shake my head and force my legs to move, navigating through the rush of people, pretending I don’t feel like I’ve just detonated my entire sense of self in the middle of Echelon Atelier.

      I check my phone. A text from Firash.

     Firash: What’s for dinner?

      Right. Food. Normal things. I can do normal things.

     I type back quickly. “Picking up Thai.” No further explanation needed.

     Fifteen minutes later, I’m in my car, the smell of basil, lemongrass, and fried garlic filling the space. The weight of the takeout bags in the passenger seat grounds me for a moment. This is what matters—my kids, my responsibilities. Not the way my body still tingles from the way Lucia touched me.

     But my mind betrays me.

     Lucia’s hands—steady, knowing—on my hips, pulling me against her. The press of her lips, firm yet soft, teasing me into submission. The way her breath had hitched when I kissed her back, as if she hadn’t expected me to give in. The heat between us, so overwhelming I thought I might melt into her right then and there.

     I swallow hard, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

     Focus, Perveen.

     I press the gas, moving forward, trying to shove the memory into the back of my mind. But as I sit at the next stoplight, the images flood back, more vivid, more dangerous. Her perfume, the silk of her blouse beneath my fingertips, the slight part of her lips just before I—

     A loud honk shatters the moment.

     I jolt, my foot slipping slightly off the brake as I snap back to reality. The light is green. I’ve been sitting there, lost in my own head, holding up traffic. Another impatient honk follows, and I hurriedly press the gas, my face burning with embarrassment.

     Get it together.

     I force myself to focus on the road, but my pulse is still racing for an entirely different reason.

     Tonight, I’ll eat dinner with my kids, listen to Firash and Ferhana bicker about something pointless, help Mateen with his homework, and pretend today was just another normal day.

     But deep down, I know better.

     Nothing about today was normal. And nothing about me will ever be the same again.

By the time I step into the apartment, the smell of Thai food has barely settled in the air before chaos erupts.

     “Food!” Mateen cheers, his little frame darting toward me before I’ve even kicked off my shoes. Firash and Ferhana aren’t far behind, practically tearing the bags from my hands as if they haven’t eaten in days.

     I raise a brow. “Geez, I get no hello?”

     Mateen, at least, has the decency to pause. “Hi, Mama,” he says sweetly before grabbing his container and plopping onto the couch.

     I shake my head, amused despite myself, but before I can fully settle into the familiarity of home, Ferhana speaks.

     “Baba wants us to visit.”

     Just like that, the warmth in my chest turns to ice.

     I stand frozen in the entryway, my coat still half on, fingers curled tightly around the strap of my purse. The words hang in the air, pressing down on me like a weight I wasn’t prepared to carry tonight.

     Firash and Ferhana are already at the table, opening their containers, the conversation nothing more than an afterthought to them. But to me? It’s a grenade, and the pin has just been pulled.

     “Absolutely not,” I say, my voice sharp enough to slice through the clatter of chopsticks and takeout boxes. “Not if he’s still living with that vile woman.”

     Silence.

     Neither of them looks up. They just keep eating, as if I hadn’t just put an iron wall between them and their father.

     And maybe that’s the worst part—that they expected this answer. That they knew exactly how I’d react because Shahou had left them just as much as he had left me.

     I swallow the bitterness rising in my throat.

      Six months. Six months without a word. Not a call. Not a text. Not a single damn acknowledgment that he had three children waiting for him to come home. And now, suddenly, he wants to play father?

     No.

     He made his choice when he walked out that door, when he packed his bags in the dead of night and ran off to be with her.

     I exhale slowly, willing myself to let go of the tension coiling in my chest, but it clings to me, suffocating. The last thing I want is to lose my temper in front of the kids.

     “I’m not hungry,” I mutter, barely recognizing my own voice. “I’ll be upstairs.”

     No one protests. No one even looks up.

     I turn on my heel and climb the stairs, my steps heavier than they should be. By the time I reach my bedroom, I shut the door behind me and lean against it, pressing my fingers against my temples.

     My anger isn’t about the marriage. Not anymore.

     Shahou and I had been broken long before he left. I’d accepted that. I wasn’t heartbroken over him—over losing a man I never truly loved in the way a wife should love a husband.

     But my children? His children?

     How could he just disappear? How could he pretend they didn’t exist for half a year and then expect to slide back into their lives like nothing happened?

     My jaw tightens, my hands curling into fists.

     No. He doesn’t get to waltz back in just because it’s convenient for him. He lost that right the second he walked out on them.

     I squeeze my eyes shut, my chest aching, the weight of it all pressing down on me.

     I should be thinking about that. I need to be thinking about that.

     And yet—beneath all the fury, all the hurt—my mind drifts again.

     To Lucia.

     To the way she touched me, to the way she made me feel something I shouldn’tbe feeling right now.

     To the way, for just a moment, I forgot about all of this.

     I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling, my heart a mess of anger, guilt, and something far more dangerous.

     What the hell is happening to me?

     I shouldn’t be thinking about her. Not now.

     I press my palms against my face, willing myself to think about anything else, but it’s useless. She’s already there, behind my closed eyes, in the heat lingering on my lips, in the way my body still remembers how close she was.

     God, I can still feel her. The warmth of her hands on my waist, the way her fingers pressed into me like she needed me just as much as I needed her.

     I exhale, shakily, my body betraying me as I sink deeper into the memory.

      What if we hadn’t stopped?

     The thought sends a shiver through me, my skin suddenly too tight, too sensitive.

      I imagine her lips trailing lower, her breath teasing against the shell of my ear as she whispers my name, voice husky and thick with desire. I imagine her pressing me against the desk, taking her time, savoring every inch of me like she had all the time in the world.

      I arch against the sheets, my fingers gripping the fabric as a slow heat curls through my stomach.

     I want more. I want her.

     I picture the way her jacket slipped off her shoulders, the silk of her blouse shifting with every movement, the way her eyes darkened as she looked at me—like she already knew all my secrets, all the things I had never dared say out loud.

     A soft sigh escapes me, my breath hitching as the fantasy takes over.

       Lucia’s hands, firm and knowing, traveling over my skin. Her mouth, hot and demanding, tasting me, teasing me, pulling me under.

      I gasp, my body trembling, the tension coiling tight, tighter—

      And then I stop.

      The silence crashes over me like a wave, pulling me back to reality, leaving me breathless and shaken.

      I blink up at the ceiling, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. My skin is still flushed, my lips slightly parted, but the moment is gone, leaving only the weight of everything I’ve been running from.

    What am I doing?

     This isn’t me. It’s never been me.

     Except—it is.

     I’ve just never let myself have it before.

     A bitter laugh escapes me as I cover my face with my hands, my body still thrumming with need, with longing.

     I don’t know what’s more terrifying—that I want Lucia Molina or that, for the first time in my life, I don’t want to fight it anymore.

     The morning sun filters through the office windows, painting streaks of amber on the polished floors. I’m still reeling from last night—my thoughts tangled with images of Lucia’s hands on me, her lips pressing against mine. Every nerve in my body feels raw, exposed, and desperate to feel her again.

     I’m organizing fabric samples when the door swings open, and a woman steps inside. She’s breathtaking—tall and poised, with deep, rich mahogany skin that gleams in the morning light. Her dark, coiled hair is pulled into a sleek, high ponytail, cascading down her back. She’s wearing a tailored burgundy pantsuit that hugs her curves effortlessly, gold jewelry glinting at her neck and wrists. Full lips painted in a bold, deep red curve into a polite smile as her dark eyes sweep the room.

     I swallow hard, trying to compose myself. Before I can say anything, Lucia appears from her office, striding out with that effortless grace that makes my stomach flutter. The tension in my chest tightens when I see the way Lucia’s face softens, her lips tugging into a rare, genuine smile.

     “Venus,” Lucia greets, her voice low and warm. The woman steps closer, and without hesitation, Lucia pulls her in for a slow, lingering kiss. My stomach plummets, and my fingers clutch the fabric on my desk as if it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

     When they break apart, Lucia’s hand rests on the woman’s hip, and she turns to me. “Perveen,” she says, almost too casually, “this is my wife, Venus.”

     Wife.

     The word crashes through me, hollowing me out. I can’t move, can’t even force a smile. Venus nods at me, seemingly unaware of the way my world just shattered into pieces. “Nice to meet you,” she says, her voice smooth and melodic.

     I manage a tight smile. “You too.”

     Lucia touches Venus’s chin gently, drawing her in for another kiss, softer this time. “I’ll be done in a few. Meet me at the café?”

     “Of course,” Venus replies, flashing that radiant smile before turning and striding out, heels clicking against the floor.

     The moment Venus walks out the door, reality crashes down on me, and I feel like I’m suffocating. My chest tightens, and my stomach twists violently. I need to get out—get away from the overwhelming ache building inside me. I don’t even remember how I make it to the bathroom, but suddenly I’m there, gripping the sink and trying not to collapse.

     My hands shake as I brace myself, gasping for air. My stomach roils, and I barely make it to the nearest stall before I’m on my knees, throwing up everything I’ve kept buried inside—guilt, shame, longing, and the bitter taste of desire.

     I hear the door creak open and footsteps approaching—calm, calculated, familiar. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes burning with unshed tears as I force myself to stand. I don’t even have the strength to be embarrassed.

     “Perveen?” Lucia’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it, tinged with concern. “Are you alright?”

     I can’t face her. I don’t want to see her. I can’t stand how my body still reacts to her touch, how even now, I crave her. “I’m fine,” I choke out, knowing how unconvincing I sound.

     She steps closer, her hand reaching for my arm, and I pull away, desperate to put some distance between us. “Don’t touch me,” I whisper, barely holding it together.

     Lucia sighs, her presence filling the small space, and I can feel her eyes on me—burning, intense, and unrelenting. “You’re not fine,” she counters, her voice low and deliberate. “Talk to me.”

     I spin around, anger and hurt colliding in my chest. “What do you want me to say, Lucia? That I’m completely fucked up right now? That I can’t get the taste of you out of my mouth, even though I just watched you kiss your wife? That I hate myself for wanting you when I know it’s wrong?”

     She steps closer, and I’m cornered, trapped between the wall and the intensity in her eyes. “You’re not wrong for wanting me,” she says softly. “I know this is messy—God, it’s messier than I ever wanted it to be. But I can’t help it. You… you get under my skin, Perveen. I love my wife, but there’s something about you that I can’t ignore.”

     My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure she can hear it. “You’re saying you’re in love with me?”

     Lucia hesitates, the barest flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. “I don’t know,” she admits. “All I know is that when I’m around you, I can’t think straight. You make me want things I shouldn’t want.”

     Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the contradiction of it all. “This is wrong,” I whisper, but the fight in my voice is gone.

     She reaches out, her fingers brushing over my cheek, and I hate how I lean into her touch. “I know,” she murmurs, eyes darkening as she moves closer. “But I don’t care.”

     Before I can protest, her lips are on mine—soft, demanding, desperate. I melt into the kiss despite myself, my hands finding their way to her waist, pulling her closer. She presses me against the wall, her body flush against mine, and I moan against her mouth, the sound muffled as she swallows it greedily.

     Her hands roam over me—one cupping my jaw, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, the other sliding down to my hip, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. Heat pools low in my belly, and I can’t help but arch into her, wanting more, needing more.

     Her mouth leaves mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, and I shudder as she nips at my pulse point. “Lucia,” I gasp, threading my fingers into her hair, pulling her closer.

     “You drive me crazy,” she whispers against my skin, her teeth scraping lightly as she sucks just hard enough to make me whimper. My hands slide under her blouse, feeling the taut muscles of her back, and she groans into my shoulder.

     Her hands glide down to my thighs, hiking up my skirt as she presses her hips into mine, pinning me firmly against the wall. My breath comes out in ragged gasps, and I can feel her smirk against my collarbone.

     “Say you want this,” she demands, her voice husky and low.

     I swallow hard, the last remnants of rationality slipping away as I pull her face back to mine, crushing my lips against hers. “I want you,” I admit, my voice barely more than a breath.

     She grins against my mouth, satisfied, before claiming me again with a fierce, hungry kiss. I lose myself in her—her taste, her scent, the way she moves against me like she’s just as desperate for this as I am.

    I know it’s reckless. I know it’s wrong. But right now, I can’t think about anything except how good she feels, how much I’ve craved this—craved her. And when her hands slide up my thighs, teasing at the edge of my underwear, I can’t bring myself to stop her.

     She pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes blazing with want. “You’re mine,” she whispers, and it’s both a promise and a warning.

     I nod, unable to find words as I kiss her again, harder this time, pouring every ounce of frustration and desire into it. For once, I let myself give in.

     The sudden creak of the door swinging open rips me from the haze of Lucia’s touch, and I practically shove her away as an older woman walks in, pausing mid-step when she spots us. Her eyebrows shoot up, and I can feel my face burning, mortification spreading through me like wildfire.

     Lucia clears her throat, smoothing her blouse like nothing just happened, but I can see the faint flush on her cheeks. My hands tremble as I adjust my skirt, trying to compose myself. The older woman just nods politely and heads to the farthest stall, clearly trying to mind her own business.

     Reality slams into me like a freight train, and I feel sick all over again. What am I doing? I almost just… with her, in a public bathroom, knowing she has a wife waiting for her. God, what’s wrong with me?

     I turn to Lucia, but I can’t meet her gaze. “Go to your wife,” I whisper, my voice shaky and thin. I don’t give her a chance to respond, slipping past her and rushing out of the bathroom before I completely fall apart.

     My hands are still trembling as I make my way back to my desk, every nerve in my body on edge. I slump into my chair, burying my face in my hands, trying to slow my racing heart. What the hell just happened?

     My lips are still tingling from her kiss, and my skin feels hot where her hands had been. But guilt presses down on me like a weight I can’t escape. She has a wife. A beautiful, loving wife who just kissed her in front of everyone. And I—

     I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to breathe. I can’t do this. I can’t be this person. Lucia is… intoxicating, but I can’t let myself fall any deeper into this mess. I’ve been through enough pain—I can’t bear to be the reason someone else feels it too.

     My mind swirls with confusion and regret, but underneath it all, the ache of longing still burns. I hate myself for it.

     The light turns red ahead, and I ease my foot onto the brake, heart still racing, mind still spinning. I can’t stop thinking about them—about Lucia and Venus, about the way I felt tangled up between reality and desire. The ache hasn’t faded, and my hands are clammy on the wheel.

     I’m so caught up in my own head that I don’t see the car barreling through the intersection until it’s too late—a flash of silver in my peripheral vision. My instincts kick in, and I yank the wheel to the right, tires screeching as I narrowly avoid getting T-boned. The car behind me slams on its brakes, horn blaring, and I’m left half on the curb, breathing like I just ran a marathon.

     I sit there for a moment, chest heaving, before finally cutting the engine. I force myself to get out, needing the cold air on my face, and I sit on the hood, gripping the metal to ground myself. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I feel like I might actually throw up.

     Cars zoom by, indifferent to my near-death experience, and I can’t help it—I start laughing. It’s that kind of helpless, shaky laughter that bubbles up when everything’s just too much. I almost died. Almost died because I was too busy thinking about Lucia and her wife, too busy caught up in something that’s never going to happen.

     What the hell am I doing?

     I take a deep breath and wipe at my eyes, forcing myself to think straight. My kids—they deserve better than this mess. Better than a mom who’s too wrapped up in fantasies and mistakes to focus on what really matters. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep losing myself to something that’s never going to happen.

     Before I can second-guess it, I pull out my phone and pull up Lucia’s number. My thumbs hesitate over the screen for a moment, but then I type out the text.

     I’m not coming into work anymore. Thank you for the opportunity.

     That’s it. No mention of her. No mention of us—because there is no us. There never was, and there never will be. I can’t keep pretending otherwise.

     I hit send before I can take it back and stare at the screen for a moment, letting the finality of it sink in. It hurts—a deep, aching hurt—but it’s better this way. Safer.

     I slip the phone back into my bag, run my hands through my hair, and slide back into the car. The engine hums to life, and I take a moment to steady myself before pulling back onto the road. Home is waiting—my kids are waiting—and it’s time to put this behind me.

     As I drive, I keep my eyes firmly on the road, refusing to let my thoughts wander. I have to move on. I have to focus on what really matters. And maybe, with time, I’ll learn to forget the way Lucia made me feel.

     But for now, all I can do is move forward.

     The end.