The walk back from the café wasn’t supposed to feel like this.It wasn’t supposed to feel like the city had quieted just for them.Like the breeze had softened.Like the world had shifted half a degree to the left—just enough to make space for something new, something cautious, something fragile and frighteningly powerful.But it did.Mirko walked beside her in that deliberate way of his—hands in his pockets, shoulders straight, stride controlled, eyes scanning the street with a habit he’d never shake. Except today… it wasn’t the usual vigilance.Today, every few steps, his gaze flicked toward her.Not obviously.Not dramatically.But enough that she felt it like heat brushing against her cheek.He wasn’t checking the surroundings.He was checking her.As if making sure she was still here.As if making sure she wasn’t about to slip away.When they reached the street where they’d part ways, he slowed.She stopped too.The wind caught a strand of her hair and dragged it across her face.

(VERY long, full-chapter, cinematic, emotional, slow-burn tension—exactly your style.)**Mirko told himself he was going home.He really did.He walked down the street.He put the helmet on.He sat on the bike.He even turned the key——and then he just sat there.Engine humming.Heart louder.Hands frozen on the handlebars even though every part of him screamed Go home, Mirko. Leave before you ruin something. Leave before you want what you shouldn’t want.He didn’t move.Not forward.Not backward.Just… sat in the dim street like a man wrestling a ghost wearing her face.He replayed the last three minutes in his head.Her voice.Her eyes.Her bare, quiet “You don’t have to walk away.”Her standing there in a T-shirt, hair loose, the soft kind of beautiful that wasn’t meant to be tempting but was.And her disappointment when he stepped back.That part stabbed.He let out a shaky exhale, dropping his head against the bike’s handlebars.He wasn’t supposed to care this much.He wasn’t sup