in a hundred words.

Your smile is the only thing I can really comprehend as you ask me to dance. Your hand is at the small of my back as you lead me to the dance floor, where the lighting is dim and everything twinkles like a dream. 

And then you draw me close; my arms go around your neck and your hands are at my waist and I can just smell the scent of your aftershave that’s distinctly you. 

“Your hands are cold,” you whisper to me, amused.

I laugh softly, nervously. “But don’t you know? They always do that when you’re around.” 

We are having dinner, you, me and a couple of our friends. It’s nothing in the least bit romantic and the place is a hole-in-the-wall secret that only students in the area know of.

We’re done eating and the air is filled with mindless chatter when you casually drape an arm around my shoulders. As if we weren’t close enough, you gently nudge me so that I lean on you. I feel my cheeks heating up yet I’ve never felt so safe.

It was all just a vivid dream.

I should have known it was too good to be true.