The Chasm

I walked ahead of him through the living room, trying to keep my movements calm, even though my knees felt like jelly. With every step, I was acutely aware that he was right behind me. I thought I could feel his gaze on my back, or maybe I was just imagining it, but my body reacted with a nervous warmth that rose to my cheeks.

The curtain to the balcony was half open, the sun was shining brightly, and the morning outside was still cool and clear. I opened the door, stepped outside, and felt the cold stone beneath the thin soles of my slippers—a welcome cooldown. I shivered and was now able to wrap the bathrobe tightly around me without looking embarrassed or rushed.

“That's your balcony over there, isn't it?” I asked, turning around. He stepped next to me and at that moment, our arms brushed against each other on the narrow balcony. It was just a fleeting touch, but it felt like someone had drawn a match across my skin. The burning sensation lingered and I felt infinitely hot.

He smiled apologetically, almost embarrassed, and stepped up to the railing. I watched as he estimated how far he would have to lean forward to reach the opposite railing. Whether there were any protrusions he could use to support himself. My stomach felt queasy. It was probably only a yard to cross. But the drop between us was deep, and a fall would be fatal.

“Are you sure you can do this?” I asked, my voice more tearful than I intended. I wanted to stop him. Not only because the thought of him falling sent a chill through me, but also because I suddenly realized how much I secretly wanted him to stay with me.

“Don't worry,” he said, his grin confident. Too confident.

I took a step closer, instinctively wanting to pull him back, but my hand stopped midair. My body wasn't obeying me anymore. And it felt strange, hot, fearful, as if electrified. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel like I was standing on a threshold that was much higher and more dangerous than the gap between the two balconies?

He swung one leg over the railing and reached for the rain pipe bracket on the wall next to him with practiced ease, as if he had done this a hundred times before. At that moment, I realized that he actually intended to climb from one balcony to the next without any safety measures.

“Wait!” I shouted. My hand shot forward and touched his bare forearm without thinking about the consequences. His skin was warm, the muscles beneath tense, everything about him pulsing with power. But my unexpected touch threw him off balance, he staggered, seemed to lose his footing.

For a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to fall. I couldn't help imagining him slipping, his body disappearing in free fall—and me being responsible. I pulled my hand back as if it had been burned.

And I was just as shocked by how wonderful it had felt to touch him. I decided to avoid any physical contact from now on. Because I couldn't guarantee that I would ever be able to let him go again.

Still balancing on the railing, he turned his head and looked at me—he seemed surprised, but not angry, much to my relief. When his gaze met mine, it sparked something that shot through me like an electric shock.

“Don't do that,” I whispered, almost pleading. "Please. It's too dangerous." My voice trembled, and I didn't know if it was just from the fear I felt for him. Or if there was something else underneath it.

He hesitated, glanced briefly at his balcony, then back at me. Finally, he climbed back down, a crooked smile on his lips. “Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe I should call a key service.”

I took a step back to avoid another accidental touch on the narrow balcony. At last, I could breathe again.

“Come on... please. Let's go inside,” I said invitingly.