The Secret Affair

It started with a glance, a spark of recognition in a crowded room. He was the one person I couldn't have, the one person who was completely off-limits. Yet, the attraction was undeniable, a magnetic pull that drew us together despite the risks. We began meeting in secret, our affair a clandestine dance in the shadows of our real lives. Coffee shops on the other side of town, late-night drives to nowhere, whispered conversations on burner phones – these were the fragments of our relationship.

Each stolen moment was a bittersweet symphony. The joy of being together was always tinged with the fear of being discovered. We lived on a knife's edge, the threat of exposure a constant shadow lurking in the corners of our happiness. We built a world of our own, a fragile bubble where we could be ourselves, away from the prying eyes and judgments of society. In that bubble, we were not a mistake; we were just two people in love.

But secrets have a way of unraveling. The lies grew heavier, the excuses more elaborate. The guilt began to eat away at the foundations of our secret world. We knew it couldn't last forever. An affair built on borrowed time is destined to end. The question was never 'if', but 'when' and 'how'. Would it end in a fiery explosion, destroying everything in its path, or would it fade away quietly, leaving behind only the ghost of what could have been? Our love was a beautiful, tragic poem, written in invisible ink, destined to be read only by us.