The cherry trees glowed under the moonlight, lanterns swaying in the breeze like hanging stars. Lila had almost turned around twice. She wasn't the kind of girl who snuck out to meet boys. Especially boys who made her heart race with one look.
But River wasn't just any boy.
She found him exactly where the note said — beneath the arch of pink blossoms at the edge of town park. He leaned against a lamppost, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the night sky like he was listening to something only he could hear.
"I thought you might chicken out," he said without looking.
"I almost did."
That made him smile — not the smirk she was used to, but something softer. More real.
He stepped forward, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward. It was charged.
"You wore your curiosity," he said, eyes trailing the curve of her neck, her bare arms.
"You wore mystery," she replied, voice just above a whisper.
He held something in his hand — a notebook. Worn leather cover, edges dog-eared and frayed. He hesitated, then offered it to her.
Lila blinked. "What is this?"
"My poetry," he said. "It's what I don't show people. Ever."
She took it slowly, heart thudding. "Why me?"
"Because you see through the noise. And because you didn't look at me like I was broken."
She opened it. His handwriting was messy, urgent. Every page bled with feeling. Darkness. Longing. Beauty that hurt to read. One poem caught her eye:
> Her eyes are fireflies in the dark —
bright enough to burn through my ruin.
I call her gravity.
Because she pulls me back when I want to disappear.
Lila looked up, breath caught in her throat. "River… this is beautiful."
His jaw clenched slightly, like the compliment made him uncomfortable.
"Most people think I'm just a fight waiting to happen," he said, kicking at the dirt. "They don't see this part."
"I do," she said quietly. "I see it. And it scares me how much I feel it too."
Their eyes locked, the space between them crackling. He stepped closer, every movement slow — like he was giving her time to run.
She didn't.
His fingers grazed her jaw, tracing the line up to her ear. "I think about kissing you a lot," he whispered. "I shouldn't. But I do."
"Why shouldn't you?"
"Because the second I do… I won't want to stop."
Lila's breath hitched. "Then don't stop."
He kissed her.
It wasn't soft.
It was hungry. Desperate. The kind of kiss that erased everything else — her past, her doubts, the rules she always followed. His hands moved to her waist, her fingers curled in his hoodie, pulling him closer.
They stumbled back against the tree trunk, her back pressing into the rough bark as his mouth explored hers with a heat that made her legs tremble.
When he finally pulled away, they were both breathless.
River rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "And I will."
She shook her head. "Don't. Please… don't."
He kissed her again, slower this time — like he was memorizing the shape of her soul through her lips.
Somewhere between the blossoms and the sky, she let go of who she'd been.
And for the first time, she wasn't just alive.
She was seen.