At first, I didn't think much of it. But as I stood outside the bathroom door, a fresh hospital gown in hand, I suddenly found myself at a loss.
How was I supposed to give it to her?
"I... I'll just leave it by the door?"
A soft click, and the door cracked open slightly. A wave of steam curled out, carrying the faint scent of soap. Then, from the narrow gap, a slender, snow-white hand stretched toward me, beads of water glistening on her skin.
"Just hand it to me."
I swallowed hard and stepped forward, doing my best to avert my gaze. But for a split second, through that sliver of an opening, I caught a glimpse of bare, smooth skin. A fleeting, forbidden vision.
"See enough?" Sophie's teasing voice pulled me back to reality.
Heat crept up my neck as I shoved the gown into her waiting hand.
A few minutes later, she stepped out, draped in the loose hospital robe. The damp strands of her hair clung to her collarbone, her skin still carrying the warmth of the shower. The neckline of her gown had slipped slightly, revealing the barest hint of delicate curves.
"Help me button this up?" she asked, her voice light and unhurried.
I hesitated before stepping closer, fingers moving stiffly as I fastened the buttons, careful—too careful—not to touch her.
Sophie watched me struggle, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips.
"Seriously, Lucas? You're a grown man, and you're still getting flustered over this?"
I shot her a look. "This has nothing to do with age."
"Oh?" She arched a brow, mischief glinting in her eyes. "You've already seen everything, and you're still acting like this?"
Something inside me snapped. With a smirk of my own, I muttered, "Yeah, well... seeing but not touching is pure torture."
Her breath hitched, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. But instead of backing down, she squared her shoulders and met my gaze head-on.
"Then..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Want to touch?"
I wasn't about to fall for that.
But before I could move, she stepped in—just a fraction too close.
And in that split second, the back of my hand brushed against something soft. Warm.
I froze. So did she.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, in a single heartbeat, she closed the remaining distance.
Sophie's lips met mine, cool and trembling, yet lingering with unmistakable intent.
My first instinct was to pull away—but I hesitated, afraid of hurting her. So I stood there, motionless, feeling the way she kissed me—tentatively at first, then deeper, as if pouring years of longing into this single moment.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper against my lips.
"Lucas... stop pushing me away. I don't want to miss this chance again."
My mind reeled.
The warmth of her breath, the heat of her body so close to mine, the raw emotion in her voice—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.
So when she asked, "Will you be my boyfriend?" the word slipped out before I even had time to think.
"Yes."
And the moment I said it, I felt something shift inside me.
Relief. Excitement. A flicker of something I thought I'd lost forever.
Because in that moment, I knew—my failed marriage hadn't taken away my ability to love.