The White-Haired Young Man

His breath went directly to my face. I begin to feel hot suddenly. The scent is alluring, a very captivating scent coming from his lips. My eyes that narrowed begin to widen once more. I gaze back and forth from his eyes to his lips.

I observe how he breathes. I feel like he’s contemplating whether to tell me his answer or keep his mouth shut. He closes his eyes for a second before he takes one deep breath in and loosens his hold of our distance.

Finally, I can breathe.

I put my right hand to my chest as the other is on the window frame. I gaze at him like I’m searching for some words to utter, but I can’t seem to ask more.

“You…you speak as if you’re confident that I won’t do anything to you, young lady,” he says. I narrow my eyes. His voice sounds confused. But the softness that lies never escapes my ears. Earlier, when I roamed my eyes on this room, I’m reminded of my past self. I’m reminded of how I used to seclude myself in a vast room where I can’t see any guests except for that