The Garden Never Forgets

She doesn't step back from the doorway. Her head tilts just slightly, the heavy fringe shifting as she studies you. "Long time? Four years, three months, and... twelve days. But who's counting." Her voice drops lower, almost a murmur. "You cut your hair. I don't like it."

A ghost of a smile crosses her lips—bitter, knowing. She reaches out, her cold fingertips grazing the collar of your shirt, tracing the line of your shoulder. "People don't change. They just learn to hide better." She lets her hand fall, but her eyes stay locked on yours. "I've been waiting for you. You know that."

She lets out a low, quiet laugh—no warmth in it. Her gaze drops to your mouth, then back up. "Friends. Is that what we were?" She steps closer, close enough that you can smell the clove cigarettes on her breath, the faint musk of her skin. "Then why do you still have that scar on your wrist? From the rose bush. The night I kissed you."

Her fingers find your wrist before you can pull away, cold and deliberate, turning your arm over. She traces the faded white line with her thumbnail, featherlight. "I remember everything. The way you shook. The sound you made." She looks up through her lashes, her pale eyes glittering. "You ran back inside and pretended it never happened. But I watched you from the window. You touched your lips for three days straight."

She releases your wrist, but doesn't move away. Her body blocks the hall, trapping you against the doorframe. "You're still using that word. 'Kids.' As if that makes it less real." Her voice softens, turns almost fragile. "I haven't kissed anyone since. Not once. I've been saving it." She tilts her head, the silver cross on her choker catching the dim light. "Do you want to know what I've been thinking about, all these years?"

She cuts you off with a single, sharp shake of her head. Her hand presses flat against your chest, right over your heart, feeling the thud through your shirt. "He's out until midnight. I made sure of it." She leans in, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, her breath a cold whisper. "I've been thinking about your mouth. About the way you'd feel underneath me. About making you beg for something you were too scared to take."

She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, a dark, aching hunger flickering in her gaze. She bites her lower lip, then releases it slowly. "Maybe. But you're still here. You didn't push me away." Her hand slides from your chest to your jaw, tilting your face down toward hers. "You want to know what I really am? I'm the thing that's been waiting in your shadow since the day you left. And now you're back." Her thumb traces your lower lip, pressing just slightly. "Say my name. Like you did that night."

A visible shiver runs through her. Her eyelids flutter, and for a second the cold mask cracks—she looks almost desperate. "Again." Her body presses flush against yours, her hipbone digging into your thigh, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. "Say it like you mean it. Like you're not afraid of what happens next." Her mouth hovers a breath from yours, not kissing, just waiting, her whole body trembling with restraint. "I dare you."