Chapter 2 : The Flame Behind the Smile

Chapter 2 : The Flame Behind the Smile

There was a man in Emmy's building who wore his suits like poetry. Crisp lines, confident steps, and a scent that lingered like a question she was never bold enough to answer. She didn't even know his name. But she knew the time he'd usually appear in the elevator and the floor he stepped off on.

He was her unspoken fascination, a private indulgence after long days at work. While Emmy was charming, full of laughter and fire, she guarded her heart with locked doors and iron fences. A bad breakup had left her hesitant, cautious, craving connection but unsure how to trust it. That changed on a quiet Saturday morning.

She had just tossed her laundry into a basket when she stepped into the elevator and found him already there. For once, she held his gaze."Good morning," he said, his voice smooth and warm. "I think we see each other often enough to not be strangers. I’m Jay."

He extended his hand. Emmy hesitated a heartbeat too long, then smiled and took it. "Emmy."

That day, they talked as they loaded their clothes into machines. He was disarming, funny, and not nearly as intimidating as she had imagined. They exchanged numbers before parting ways.

Their first real meeting was casual: a glass of wine, music humming softly, and a shared sunset from Jay’s apartment balcony. He offered her a massage, claiming her posture looked "tense from too many spreadsheets."

She laughed. "You're smooth."

"No," he replied. "Just observant."

He was right. She hadn’t let herself relax in months. The touch of his hands against her shoulders sent tremors down her spine. But she left early, politely, unsure if she was ready for more.

The second time, she stayed.

Wrapped in his t-shirt, her hair damp from a quick shower, she walked out of the bathroom and into his waiting eyes. There was a beat of silence, thick with intention. Then she stepped toward him and kissed him.

At first, he hesitated. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I’ve never been more sure."

What followed was gentle and electric. They explored one another slowly, as if learning a language by touch alone. Jay was patient, Emmy was curious, and the night stretched on like a whispered song.

They became inseparable. Evenings turned into rituals: shared showers, slow dances in the kitchen, whispered jokes over wine. They made love like artists, each time a new creation. Emmy felt herself letting go laughing louder, trusting deeper.

But not all stories are built to last.

One evening, Jay's phone rang while he was in the kitchen. Emmy heard the tone in his voice change. Then silence. When he returned, his face was pale.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I have to go. That was... my wife. She's back. Early. From her deployment."

The air shattered.

Emmy's breath caught. "Wife?"

Jay looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. "I didn't mean for this to happen. You....this....was real."

She didn't cry. Not then. She gathered her things with quiet dignity, kissed him once on the cheek, and walked out without looking back.

That night, Emmy sat on her bed staring at nothing. Her heart ached, but she didn’t regret a thing. Because for a few fleeting weeks, she had remembered what it felt like to be truly desired.

And that, she thought, was a flame worth lighting.

She gave herself permission to feel the hurt, but not to carry it forever. The next morning, she opened her curtains wide, brewed strong coffee, and began to write again in the journal she'd abandoned months ago.

She wrote not of Jay, but of herself, of the way she felt when she danced in the kitchen, the warmth in her chest when someone looked at her like she mattered. She wrote to remind herself that love had found her because she was open, not because she was naive.

And perhaps, she thought as she closed the final page, one day someone else would read these words and see her not as a broken heart, but as a woman who dared to love fully even when it burned.

Emmy stood taller after that. She smiled easier, flirted with less fear, and walked through life not waiting to be chosen, but already knowing her worth.

Sometimes, the deepest love stories are the ones we have with ourselves.