Under the Moonlight

CHAPTER-10

The night had grown colder, but the warmth from his words lingered, wrapping around me in a way I didn’t expect. I stayed on the bench, letting the crisp air bite at my cheeks, pretending I was distracted by the quiet shimmer of the park lights.

Issei didn’t move away. He leaned against the railing, just watching me. Not pressuring. Not demanding.

Just… there.

The vulnerability in his eyes hadn’t vanished, and I found myself studying him in return, trying to hold onto every small detail: the faint crease at the corner of his mouth, the way his hair caught the light, the way he always seemed to breathe calmly, even in moments like this.

I wanted to speak. Wanted to say something, anything, but my throat felt thick, and the words caught somewhere between my chest and my lips. So I just let the silence stretch, letting him hear me without saying a thing.

Finally, he broke it.

“I know this is sudden,” he said softly, not looking at me, eyes tracing the path ahead, “and maybe it’s… a lot. But I can’t keep it in anymore. I don’t want to.”

I swallowed, unsure if I was afraid, or just too stunned to respond. “I…” I began, then trailed off, shaking my head.

He chuckled quietly, not amused, just relieved to speak. “It’s okay if you don’t know what to say. You don’t have to answer me now. I just… needed to be honest.”

Something shifted inside me. The panic I half-expected, the fear of rejection, didn’t come. Instead, there was a quiet warmth, a steady beat that seemed to match the faint hum of the city around us.

“I… I feel the same,” I said finally, voice low but firm, eyes locked on his. “I just didn’t know how to… I didn’t expect you to also feel that way about me.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, small, genuine, and a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not great at waiting, huh?”

“You could say that,” I replied, a laugh escaping before I could stop it. It felt good, light, freeing, like letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

He moved a fraction closer, careful, respectful. Not touching, not crossing lines, just closer. “I don’t know what comes next,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I just know I want to be around you. I want to know you… really know you.”

I nodded, letting it settle. “I want that too. More than I realized.”

And for the first time that night, we both just sat there, letting the silence hold us together. The park around us, the city beyond, even the stars above. They all felt like they were quietly giving space to something new, fragile, and entirely ours.

“This feels like a cheesy romance movie, y’know?” he said with a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Or some weird fairytale.”

I let out a soft breath, something between a laugh and a sigh.

“Honestly,” he continued, voice lighter now but still careful, “meeting someone and then… feeling something for them like this? I always thought that only happened in books or movies. I used to think it was stupid.”

He glanced at me briefly, almost embarrassed. “Like, people don’t just suddenly like someone that deeply. But… here I am.”

I didn’t answer right away.

We were sitting on opposite ends of the bench, a respectful distance between us, but it felt closer than anything I’d experienced before. Close enough that I was acutely aware of him, the way he leaned forward slightly, the quiet tension in his posture, the warmth of his presence beside me.

Too close for comfort.
Too close to stay calm.

My mind was loud. My chest even louder.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But the words tangled in my throat, and I stayed quiet, afraid that if I spoke too soon, I’d say the wrong thing. Afraid that if I spoke at all, this fragile moment might crack.

He didn’t push me.
He never did.

After a few seconds, he exhaled and smiled softly, more to himself than to me.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you.”

Before I could respond, he stood, stretching slightly as if grounding himself.

“Um,” he added, more carefully now, “can I walk you home? It’s really late.”

The question was gentle. No expectation behind it. Just concern.

I nodded. “Yeah. That’d be… nice.”

We walked side by side through the quiet streets, our footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. The city felt different at this hour, softer, slower, like it was holding its breath. Streetlights cast warm halos on the pavement, and the night air carried a chill that made me pull my jacket tighter around myself.

Every now and then, our arms brushed.

Each time, my heart skipped.

Neither of us said much. And strangely, it didn’t feel awkward. The silence between us felt like it was meant to exist, not be filled.

By the time we reached my apartment building, I felt both lighter and heavier all at once.

He stopped a few steps back, hands in his pockets.

“Goodnight,” he said, smiling.

“Goodnight,” I replied.

I stood there until his silhouette blended into the dark.

Only then did I unlock the building door and step inside.

The lobby lights flickered softly overhead, too bright after the intimacy of the street. The familiar scent of cleaner and old carpet grounded me, but my thoughts were still tangled somewhere between the park bench and the sound of his voice saying I want to know you.

The elevator ride up felt longer than usual. Each floor chimed past while my reflection stared back at me from the mirrored walls, cheeks flushed, eyes a little too bright, lips pressed together as if I was holding onto something fragile.

When I finally reached my apartment, the quiet hit me all at once.

I kicked off my shoes by the door and leaned back against it, letting my head rest against the wood. My heart was still racing, my chest tight with a feeling I couldn’t quite name. Excitement, maybe. Fear. Something dangerously close to hope.

I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest.

I feel the same.

The words replayed in my head, over and over, sounding different each time. Saying them out loud had felt terrifying but now, in the safety of my own space, they felt inevitable. Like they’d been waiting there long before tonight, just beneath the surface.

I exhaled slowly.

This wasn’t how I planned things. I didn’t plan feelings. I didn’t plan attachments. My life had always been built around structure.

Deadlines, rehearsals, quiet determination. People came and went. Music stayed.

And yet.

Somewhere between studio lights and park benches, Issei had slipped into my thoughts without me realizing.

I stood and moved through the apartment, turning on only one lamp, letting the soft glow fill the living room. My phone buzzed on the counter, startling me.

For a split second, my heart jumped.

But it wasn’t him. Just a notification from a group chat I hadn’t checked in hours. I set the phone back down, a little more carefully than before.

He still didn’t have my number.

I changed into something comfortable and curled up on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the night stretched on. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.

His hesitant smile, the way he’d kept his distance while still staying close, the care woven into every word he chose.

There was something different about that.

It wasn’t urgency. It wasn’t impulse. It was patience.

I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep, but when I did, my dreams were quiet and soft, filled with moonlit paths and unspoken promises.

Morning light spilled through the curtains far too soon.

I groaned softly and rolled onto my side, burying my face into the pillow. For a brief, disorienting moment, I wondered if the night before had been a dream.

Then my chest tightened again, warm and familiar.

Not a dream.

I sat up, rubbing sleep from my eyes, the weight of reality settling in slowly. Today didn’t feel like any other day. It felt like something had shifted off its axis, just enough to change the direction of everything.

I reached for my phone again, hesitating.

No messages.

Of course not.

I let out a quiet laugh at myself and stood, stretching as I headed toward the kitchen.

Coffee first.

Thinking later.

That was always the rule.

As the kettle heated, my mind wandered back to the studio, to the unfinished song, to the way life suddenly felt louder and more vivid than it had a week ago.

I wasn’t naive. I knew feelings didn’t automatically mean certainty. I knew things could get complicated…

especially with two lives moving in different orbits.

But for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t trying to plan ten steps ahead.

I was just… letting myself feel.

And somewhere between the steam rising from my mug and the quiet hum of the city waking up outside my window, I realized something that made my breath hitch slightly.

I was looking forward to seeing him again.

Not as a thought.
Not as a possibility.

As something I wanted.

(In another apartment not too far)

I couldn’t even sleep for a bit. I mean I just spilled my feelings for the first time.

I’ve got no regrets but I hope I haven’t made a mistake.

Especially not a problem for her…

I am looking forward to seeing more of her. 

CHAPTER-10 END