Author’s note: I’m trying to improve my (practically non existent) ability to write short pieces – this is longer (and weirder) than I’d like it to be, but practice makes perfect, right?

It

It is something that will change them both forever, for better and for worse.

It begins with small gestures, so small it is unlikely that anyone else notices. She casually brushes his hand with hers as she walks past him without stopping, while he gently tugs on her hair as she sits on the floor at his feet. Secret smiles and scribbled notes are exchanged; late nights are spent talking about everything and nothing.

It takes longer than it might have, because both have their reasons for pretending they cannot see what is happening between them, but eventually she gathers all her courage together, and turns her head towards his while he hugs her goodnight.

It is after a moment of hesitation, during which she has begun to panic that she has read the signs wrong, that he kisses her back.

It is a relatively chaste embrace, finished almost before it has started. It is over too soon. But even as their lips part, even as they make awkward apologies and excuses for what has transpired, they exchange heated glances and know that it will happen again. It has to. And sure enough, it does.

It progresses to stolen moments after everyone else has gone to bed. Sometimes it is fast and furious as they mark one another, biting and scratching and screaming as they fuck. Sometimes it is slow and passionate, tender and tortuous.

It is always terrifying in its intensity; too much, yet not enough.

It was never supposed to last, and it was not meant to mean anything, but somehow, it has and it does. “I love you,” he whispers in her ear one night when he comes, and her eyes snap open with surprise even as he carries her over the brink with him. After she has caught her breath, the same three words spill easily from her lips.

It is no longer enough to snatch a few minutes together. They call in sick to work and spend whole days together, locked up in her flat and lost in their own little world. During one of these encounters – on the living room floor, atop the kitchen table, standing up in the shower - they conceive a child.

It is a disaster. They belong to other people, not each other, and neither is in a position to leave. It is instantly clear to both what must be done – logically, it is the only course of action they can possibly take - but they sit for hours endlessly discussing their options anyway.

It ends in the sterile white waiting room of the clinic.

It will turn out to be the hardest thing that either of them ever do in their lives. They sit close enough for it to be intimate, but neither dare touch the other because if they allow themselves to connect for just one second, they will both break down.

It is a silent goodbye. They have already said all that needs to be said, and made all the promises that need to be made. When her name is called, she simply stands and walks away. She does not pause to look back and see the sadness etched on his face. He is gone before she returns to the waiting room, tearstained and broken.

It is the end, because it has to be. Fate and circumstance have conspired against them this time. But one day, perhaps, it will be their turn.