“How did I mislead you?”

I want to tell him that he made me feel like there was something between us. But how would that sound? I could never say it anyway because I have too much pride. Knowing his perfect Barbie is waiting for him, I would never humiliate myself like this. What’s the point? Just to get it off my chest? No, thanks. I’ll keep it on, until it suffocates me in my sleep. I’d rather that.

“Maya,” he says and again takes a step toward me. Again I back off.

“OK,” he says. “I get it. I’ll stay here. Far from you. Is this far enough?” he says and takes five, six steps back. Seven, ten. Fifteen. “Why are you leaving?” he yells and I barely hear.

“Why do you even care?” I yell back.

“Well, for one, because I…” he yells again but I can’t hear what he says at the end.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

I want to leave. I don’t want to talk to him anymore. “I’m going now,” I yell.

I grab the handle of one of my suitcases, and all of a sudden, I feel like I’m flying. He’s holding me up in his strong arms and his lips are on mine. He’s kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before. Passionately and possessively, like he can’t get enough of me, like he’s been hungry for me. I feel the world is spinning and I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I try not to return his kiss, but it’s beyond me. I kiss him back and I let this moment take over all my senses.

He puts me down. “I said… because I love you,” he says and looks straight into my eyes.

I’m trying to catch my breath and regain my composure, but my cheeks are on fire and my legs are weak. “Too bad,” I say, “because I don’t love you,” and I step back.

How dare he tell me he loves me after everything that happened? No, no! I get that I can’t control my urges when he’s near me, but I can control what I say and how I behave from now on.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, his face now serious.

“Well, I don’t,” I say, and look away.

He comes in closer, so close I can now feel his warm breath on my face. His cologne is making me dizzy. “Look at me,” he says, his voice firm now, but I don’t.

He gently grabs my chin and turns my face to him. “Maya—” he insists.

We look into each other’s eyes, and the chemistry is overpowering. But I won’t give in. I clench my jaw and do my best not to let him see how my body responds to him, how I long for his touch—but it’s stronger than me. I don’t know from where or how it happens, but I find myself pressing my lips to his with thirst and desperation I didn’t think I was capable of.