Ezra and I hated each other—loud, public, undeniable. But one stormy night, he picked me up, played Chopin, touched my hand. That kiss changed everything. We met in secret—rooftops, shadows, silence between kisses. Then someone saw. He pulled away. I broke.“I don’t want safe—I want you,”I told him. He kissed me like he meant it. The next day, I grabbed his hand in the hall. Gasps. Eyes. He kissed me anyway. No more hiding. Once enemies. Now? We were fire—and finally free.
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