A kiss.


It was one fine evening and they are sitting together on a rooftop while looking at the stars one night. She lit his cigarette and uttered the word which sounded more of a demand than a request.

"Write what?" he asked with a puzzled look in his eyes.

She shrugged and said, "Anything. Write to me. Write about me. Write me a story."

He fell silent for a moment, sighed, and looked away.

"And what will I get in return?" he asked back as he puffed smoke out of his mouth that vanished quickly into thin air.

"A kiss." 

Those two words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. She bit her lower lip and silently hoped he wouldn't laugh at her odd request along with her equally quaint answer.

He didn't. But he said nothing either.

The cold wind blew, the leaves rustled, tearing down the silence in the air. And then she knew it was time for her to leave. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to. She needed to make sure of the thing she didn't expect to feel about him. Whether it was true, or if she was ready.

She stood up, and said her goodbye. She knew it was wrong but because it felt right, she did it anyway.

She kissed him, and walked away.

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