I’ve seen you around since we were kids.

Passing glances at the corner shop.

Half-smiles across crowded rooms.

Never spoke. Never needed to.

There was always something electric between us —

a pull I couldn’t name.

It sat between us like a secret no one else could hear.

And then suddenly, our parents started dating.

Your mum. My dad.

And just like that, you moved in.

Now you’re brushing past me in the hallway in my old T-shirt.

Stealing the last mug of tea.

Singing off-key in the kitchen at 10 p.m.

And I’m losing my mind.

Because the pull is still there.

Stronger now. Closer. Real.

⸻

Tonight, you caught me staring.

You didn’t look away this time.

“Is this weird?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

I took a breath. Stepped closer.

“We’re not really anything,” I said.

“Not yet. Not until they get married.”

You blinked, lips parting.

I could feel the air shift.

“So,” I added, lower now, “technically... we’re not step-siblings.”

You smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

And then you kissed me like you’d been waiting years.