The Memory Keeper: Twisted Roots

Chapter 21: Ember Still Glows

"You can sleep on the bed—I'll take the couch," she said, her tone casual, as if this wasn't the most intimate we'd been in a long time.

I simply nodded, but when she turned to leave, something in me reacted before my mind could catch up. I reached out and grabbed her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding me.

"Can you please stay with me?" My voice was softer than I intended, almost pleading.

She hesitated only for a second before nodding. Without a word, she guided me toward the bed, her grip firm yet gentle. I scooted closer, my body naturally seeking hers. The warmth radiating from her was comforting, familiar, like stepping back into something I had lost but never truly let go of.

As if on instinct, she started rubbing my head, the way she always used to when we were together. That simple motion—her fingers threading through my hair, tracing soft circles against my scalp—calmed me in ways I couldn't explain.

"You still have that power to make me fall asleep just by doing that," I murmured, chuckling softly.

"I guess it's the touch," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I turned to face her then, studying her in the dim light. Every detail of her—the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the way her lips parted ever so slightly as she breathed—was a sight I had memorized once before, and yet it still felt brand new.

Her voice broke the silence. "When are you going home?"

I smirked, shaking my head. "Wrong question."

She pulled back slightly, confusion flickering in her eyes. "What do you mean?"

I held her gaze, my lips curving into something playful yet sincere. "You should be asking—who are you going home with?"

A slow smile formed on her lips, the kind that made my heart stutter. Our faces were so close now that I could hear her breathing, feel the warmth of it against my skin.

"Day after tomorrow," she finally answered, and as she spoke, I lifted a hand, brushing my fingers against her cheek, cupping her face as if she were something fragile—something I wasn't ready to let go of.

"Rain—"

I didn't let her finish.

I lifted my hand, gently pressing a finger against her lips, silencing whatever words she was about to say. Her breath hitched, and for a fleeting moment, hesitation flickered in her eyes. But I didn't want hesitation. Not tonight.

Without another thought, I closed the space between us and kissed her.

This time, it wasn't a rushed, heat-of-the-moment kiss fueled by jealousy or impulse. This time, it was slow—deep—lingering. My lips molded against hers, tasting the faint remnants of wine and something distinctly her. My hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, as if I could make up for all the time we had lost in a single moment.

She responded instantly. A soft sigh escaped her as her hands found their way to my waist, gripping me as if she needed to hold onto something real. The warmth of her body pressed against mine, her touch sending a shiver down my spine.

There was no more past or future—just us, tangled in this moment, with nothing else existing beyond the way our lips moved together, the way our breaths intertwined.

I didn't know what would happen after tonight, whether this kiss was a beginning or an ending.

But right now, none of that mattered.

Right now, all that mattered was her.

This moment deepened, and we lost ourselves in it, surrendering to the pull that had always existed between us. There were no questions, no hesitations—just us. Just her lips against mine, soft yet insistent, as if she, too, was desperate to make up for the time we had lost.