#UnspokenWords JasmineAndSalt TimelessBeauty MysteriousAllure NudePolish TannedLegs WistfulGaze LostInTheMoment BatrounMagic

[geooooo]

I sat at the corner of the bistro, a book in hand and a coffee beside me, the steam rising like the quiet anticipation in the air. My Wayfarer shades shielded my eyes from the sun, but they couldn’t shield the intensity with which I watched her. She was there—Ellena—in that milkmade white dress, her beauty so effortless, so graceful, it almost felt wrong to stare. But I couldn’t help it. I watched her every move, the way the soft fabric of her dress clung to her form, the beige sandals that rested lightly on the floor, the tanned legs that crossed beneath the table, and the subtle nude polished nails that tapped gently against the glass.

She hadn’t noticed me yet. But from her side of the bistro, she felt it. The weight of my gaze, the quiet intensity, the way my pen moved furiously across the page. My words were for her, a quiet tribute to the allure she carried so naturally.

She knew something was happening. She could feel it, and as if to challenge the invisible connection between us, she gave me a wink—playful, knowing, almost daring. Her tongue, the slightest wisp, traced the curve of her lips from left to right, a subtle, sensual gesture that felt like an invitation.

She knew I was writing about her. The realization in her eyes made my heart race, but she didn’t break the spell. Instead, she lingered in the moment, letting it hang between us, and I knew she was aware of every word I was scribbling, every breath I took as I absorbed her, as if the very air around us had changed the second I walked in.

It was the kind of connection that didn’t need words, only the quiet acknowledgment of what could never be spoken. And still, the story I wrote, line by line, was all hers.