Can you imagine that we’ve never even shared a kiss?

She became my world, my reason to wake up each day, as if the sun rose just to light her path to me. Every moment I spent near her was like living in a dream, one where time seemed to stop, and all that mattered was the look in her eyes. Those eyes, they held galaxies, vast and unknown, and I often found myself lost in them, entranced by their mysteries, craving to explore every hidden thought and feeling they carried. Her laughter had a way of echoing within me, reverberating like music that only I could hear, a melody that played just for us.

Sometimes, when she didn’t notice, I’d watch her from across the room, studying the way she interacted with the world. The light would catch her hair, a halo of brilliance framing her face, and in those moments, I swore she was more than human, something too divine for this earth. She moved with a grace so effortless that it seemed like she was dancing even when she was standing still, like every step was guided by a rhythm only she knew.

My love for her was consuming, yes, but in the most gentle way. It was like breathing—it just happened, naturally and quietly. And yet, there were moments where the intensity of it would strike me all at once, like a tidal wave crashing over my soul. In those times, I wanted to reach out and hold her, to pull her close and let her feel the beat of my heart that seemed to race only for her. But I’d hold back, a strange kind of reverence stopping me, a respect for the unspoken, the unknown.

The closest we ever got was when she placed her hand in mine, her delicate fingers curling around my own. It was in that simple touch that I felt more connected to her than I ever could through any spoken word or gesture. Her warmth seeped into me, filling the spaces I hadn’t realized were empty. She would look up at me with a gaze so tender it made my chest ache, a silent promise that told me everything I needed to know: she felt it too.

And yet, despite all this, we remained suspended in this beautiful, delicate limbo. There were times when her lips would part slightly, as if she were about to say something, to break the silence between us, but the words never came. Instead, we’d share a soft smile, an understanding passing between us like a secret language that only we spoke. In these moments, it was as if the world around us faded, and all that existed was the space between us, heavy with anticipation.

The world felt different with her in it, like colors were brighter, sounds clearer, and every scent carried an air of her presence. I could close my eyes and picture her perfectly, down to the way she moved her hands when she spoke, the way her brow would furrow in concentration, or the gentle way she’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Each of these memories was a piece of her I held close, a fragment of her essence that I’d etched into my heart.

People would notice, of course, the way we looked at each other. Some would smile knowingly, others would raise a brow, but we never felt the need to explain ourselves. There was a beauty in the mystery, a power in the unexpressed. I’d catch her staring sometimes, her eyes tracing the lines of my face as if committing me to memory. She’d blush and look away, and in that quiet vulnerability, I saw the depths of her affection.

No kiss had been shared between us, and yet, I felt as if I’d known the taste of her soul. It was as though every look, every brush of her hand, carried a kiss hidden within it, one that resonated deeper than anything physical. In a world where people often rush into love, I cherished our patience, our silent agreement to wait until words and gestures would simply feel redundant.

So here we remain, in a love so deep it transcends touch, a love spoken not in words but in glances, gestures, and memories carried in silence. A love that fills me so completely, I know that even without a single kiss, I am already hers.