Sexual tension

I first saw him on the streets of the city, on ordinary days when my thoughts wandered and he passed by like a breeze carrying something inexplicable. I don’t remember the exact moment, but I remember the feeling. It was as if we already knew each other, as if, at some point in time, our paths had crossed and something had been left unresolved. Since then, he started appearing in the most unexpected moments, like a song that keeps playing in your mind.

Our eyes met briefly, but it was enough to leave me with the sense that if we had stopped, something would have happened. Something big. Something overwhelming. There were never any words, just this exchange of energy that needed no explanation.

Then came the museum. He was with his family, I was with friends, and even surrounded by so many people, there was that same look, heavy with an almost unbearable intensity. We stayed in the same space for a while, never getting closer, never saying a single word, but fully aware of each other the whole time. When he left, he left behind a void I couldn’t quite describe.

Last night, at the Latin party, it felt different. There, in the heat of the music and the movement, it seemed impossible to ignore him. He was on the other side of the room, and I knew he saw me too. Our game of timid, fleeting glances resumed, but this time the tension felt stronger, as if the party was just a stage for a moment that refused to happen.

I imagined what it would be like if, for an instant, we allowed ourselves. If I crossed that room and called him by a name I didn’t know, or if he came to me, breaking the silence that enveloped us. Everything else would disappear—the music, the lights, the crowd. It would be just us.

I thought about the touch of his hand on mine, how his voice would sound so close. I thought about his lips finally meeting mine, translating into action what our eyes had said so many times. It would be everything I imagined, and more.

But then, like so many times before, he stood still for a moment before averting his gaze and melting into the crowd. Time seemed to slow as I watched him go, and for a second, I thought about running after him. But I stayed where I was, caught between desire and hesitation.

He is still the stranger who lives in my thoughts, the man who makes my heart race without even knowing my name. Maybe one day our paths will cross again, and something will finally happen. Maybe fate will give us another chance. For now, he remains an unfinished dream, a desire that refuses to fade.