The morning sun filtered weakly through the threadbare curtains of Teresa's room, casting soft shadows across the small, sparsely furnished space. The old wall fan hummed in the corner, stirring the warm air in slow circles. Teresa sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, her eyes fixed on the street outside.
It was Saturday, her only day off, but it felt more like a sentence than a blessing. Her father never let her go anywhere that wasn't absolutely necessary. "No daughter of mine will be wandering the streets," he'd often say, "especially not in this city." And so, like most Saturdays, Teresa was locked indoors—no friends to visit, no phone to text on, and barely enough books to keep her distracted.
She tried sketching. Then journaling. Even considered braiding her own hair again. But nothing stuck. Everything felt stale. Her thoughts kept drifting… to Andrea.
Just then, her mother's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Tessa!"
She got up slowly, padding barefoot to the door.
"Mama?"
"Dress up quickly. Andrea just called. He said his mom needs your help at the house. He's coming to pick you up soon."
Teresa blinked. "Andrea?"
"Yes. You know you're always helping out at the restaurant. Maybe she wants to try a new dish or something."
But Teresa's heart had already taken a leap. She wasn't sure what to make of it excitement tinged with nerves. Andrea had been… different lately. Less cruel. More watchful. She wasn't sure if she liked it or feared it.
Still, she got dressed. A soft lavender blouse, simple jeans. She brushed her hair down, applied a touch of lip balm, then sat back down, hands wringing together in her lap. Her chest fluttered nervously.
Minutes later, the familiar low rumble of a car engine echoed from the front. She peered out the window and saw the sleek black car parked just outside their gate.
Andrea leaned against it, sunglasses on, arms crossed, looking like something out of a New York fashion ad.
She sucked in a deep breath. Here we go.
Teresa stepped out of the house with a slow, careful grace, her eyes dropping to the gravel for a second before meeting Andrea's. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, his gaze trailing her figure like a slow drag of heat. She wasn't dressed to impress—she never did—but to him, she didn't have to be. The lavender blouse clung softly to her, modest but pretty, and it did something to him. Something sharp and wanting.
She gave him a small nod. "Hey."
He opened the car door for her without a word, his eyes not leaving hers. "Let's go."
She hesitated just a second—still unsure of what this day would bring—then slid in. As the car pulled away from her street, her heart thudded against her ribs. Andrea hadn't said anything about where they were going. And the truth was… she hadn't asked.
"Your mom really needs my help?" she asked quietly.
Andrea kept his eyes on the road, one hand draped casually over the wheel. "Yeah… she does."
But his tone lacked conviction, and Teresa's eyes narrowed. "Are you lying?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Maybe."
She stared at him, unsure whether to be angry or flattered.
"You didn't want to stay cooped up all day, did you?" he asked, glancing at her. "I figured I'd do you a favor."
Teresa didn't answer. Her fingers tugged at the hem of her blouse as she stared out the window. Her pulse betrayed her—too fast, too loud. What was this? Why was she here with him? Why was he being… nice?
And why did her chest feel like it was glowing?
They went to the High Line first, where the green path wound through Manhattan like a secret garden above the noise. Andrea walked behind her most of the time, his eyes stealing quiet glances at her profile—the slope of her nose, the delicate bow of her lips.
"You've never been here?" he asked as they leaned against the railing, looking down at the slow-moving cars below.
She shook her head. "I've lived here my whole life, but… we never really had the time or the money for stuff like this."
Andrea looked at her, really looked, and for the first time in a long while, his chest tightened—not with lust, but with something heavier. Guilt. Curiosity. Wonder.
He wanted to give her the world. But he didn't even know how to say that.
So instead, he drove her to the Chelsea Market, bought her a mountain of food—Korean BBQ tacos, lobster rolls, fresh gelato—and sat across from her watching her eat like it was the most captivating thing he'd ever seen.
"You're staring," she said, licking sauce off her thumb.
"Yeah," he said shamelessly, "I am."
She blushed, but her gaze didn't drop this time. For once, she didn't look away.
As the sun dipped behind the skyline, they ended up in Central Park, lying side by side in the grass like two kids skipping class. Their laughter echoed faintly in the open air—unfamiliar, almost surreal.
"I didn't think you could laugh like that," she said, smiling up at the sky.
"I didn't think I could either," he murmured.
Silence fell between them, warm and full. And in that silence, something shifted. A thread of tension wound itself around them—tight, fragile, trembling.
Andrea turned to her slowly, his hand barely brushing hers. She turned too. Their faces were inches apart now. The way she looked at him—it was cautious but soft, like she wanted to trust him but didn't know how.
And he… he wanted to kiss her.
God, he wanted to.
His breath hitched, and his hand hovered near her cheek.
She didn't move away.
But just before he could lean in, her eyes fluttered shut—and that's when a loud whistle shattered the moment.
A group of teenage boys had stopped a few feet away. One of them had eyes on Teresa—eyes that were far too bold.
"Hey, mama," one of them called out, "why don't you come hang with a real man?"
Andrea's jaw tensed. Teresa's entire body stiffened.
The boy took a few steps closer, grinning. "You don't belong with him. Come on, baby—smile for me."
Andrea was already on his feet.
"Say that again," he said, voice dark, eyes narrowed.
The boy smirked, stepping up like he wanted a show. "You deaf, bro? I said—"
The punch came fast.
Andrea didn't hold back. His fist landed square against the boy's jaw, sending him sprawling. Chaos erupted as the other teens jumped in, but Andrea fought like a storm—quick, brutal, terrifying. Teresa stood frozen, eyes wide with shock and panic, as fists flew and curses rang out.
One of them grabbed Teresa's wrist.
"Don't touch her," Andrea growled, his voice dark and controlled—barely.
The boy laughed and yanked harder. "You her man or her babysitter?"
Before Teresa could scream, Andrea was on him.
The crack of a punch rang out.
Andrea slammed the guy back against the metal pole with a force that echoed. Another rushed him and landed a surprise blow—right to Andrea's nose, making him bleed. He stumbled for a breath.
Teresa screamed.
Blood trickled down Andrea's nose, but it only made him angrier.
He roared and dove back into the fight.
Fists flew. Skin tore. Elbows struck. Andrea didn't stop—not when another tried to grab Teresa, not even when two came at him together. It wasn't until the last one staggered back with a bruised eye that they finally ran, hurling curses behind them.
Silence followed.
Andrea's chest heaved with heavy breaths, his shirt torn at the collar, his nose bleeding, his knuckles raw. He turned sharply.
Teresa was on the ground, knees drawn to her chest, trembling like a leaf. Her hands were wrapped around herself as if to shield her from what had just happened.
"Teresa," he called softly, his voice breaking. He rushed to her.
She didn't speak—just looked at him with wide, broken eyes. Her lips parted, but no sound came. He crouched, gathering her into his arms like something precious.
"It's okay," he whispered, rocking her. "You're safe now. I've got you."
Her tears came silently, hot against his chest. She didn't even protest when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the car.
They went his place, the air was tense, thick with unsaid emotions. Andrea led her in gently, setting her down on the couch before grabbing the first aid kit. His hands trembled as he cleaned the blood from nose, wincing when the alcohol stung.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should've protected you sooner."
She didn't answer. Instead, she reached for the cotton ball and gently dabbed at his wound, her fingers delicate, trembling. Their eyes met. Time slowed.
"This is why my dad does not allow me leave the house," she admitted in a whisper.
"I wouldn't have let anything happen," he said, staring into her.
Her hands paused.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She exhaled. "You scared me too, you know."
His voice dropped. "I scare myself sometimes."
Their faces were too close. Their breaths mingled.
And then—heat.
His hands reached for her waist, pulling her slowly into his lap. Her arms circled his shoulders, one hand tangling in his hair. Their foreheads touched, their lips mere inches apart, the tension unbearable.
And then—they kissed.
Not soft. Not careful. Desperate.
His lips moved against hers with hunger, his fingers roaming the curve of her waist, memorizing her. Her hand cupped his jaw, kissing him back like she'd been waiting forever. He tilted her head, deepening it, his lips brushing along hers like a prayer, a plea.
Five full minutes of nothing but lips, hands, breath, and quiet moans.
Then—silence.
They froze.
Both breathing hard.
Her eyes opened wide. His hand still rested at her hip, hers curled in his shirt. But the spell was broken.
She blinked. "I… I should go."
He didn't argue. Just nodded, swallowing thickly.
The drive back was silent. Heavy. His fingers tapped the steering wheel nervously, and her gaze stayed fixed on the window.
But something had changed.
Something they couldn't take back.
And neither of them dared speak of it.
*******
As soon as Andrea's car rolled to a gentle stop in front of her house, silence thickened in the air between them. Teresa's hand hovered over the door handle, her heart still racing—not from fear anymore, but from the kiss, the tension, the weight of everything that had passed between them.
"I'll… see you at work," Andrea said, his voice low and a little unsure. He didn't look at her, just gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched, his lips still slightly red from their kiss.
She nodded slowly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. "Okay," she murmured, not trusting herself to say more.
And then, without another word, she opened the door and stepped out. She didn't look back.
As soon as she entered the house, the familiar scent of home grounded her. Her mother was in the kitchen, stirring a pot, and her father sat on the couch, half-asleep, the TV playing softly in the background.
"You're back early," her mom called, glancing up. "Did Madam Judith need your help at all?"
Teresa forced a smile, nodding. "Yes, but not too much. I'm a little tired."
"You've eaten, right?" her dad asked, barely lifting his head.
"Yes, Daddy."
She didn't wait for more questions. Her heart was too full. She hurried to her room, closed the door behind her quietly, and leaned against it for a moment, breathing in deep.
And then she smiled.
Her cheeks warmed as she pressed her fingers to her lips. The kiss. That kiss. She could still feel it. The way Andrea's lips had moved against hers, the intensity of it, the urgency in his hands when they gripped her waist, the tenderness in the way he brushed her hair aside.
Her knees went a little weak as she walked over to her bed and flopped down, hugging her pillow to her chest, still smiling like a girl who'd just touched the sky.
Did we really kiss? she thought, staring at the ceiling. How did that even happen?
She rolled over, clutching her pillow tighter. Her mind played the scene over and over again like a movie on repeat. The way he looked at her before it happened. The softness in his eyes. The way he didn't pull away immediately. The way he looked almost… broken after, as if he'd just crossed a line he hadn't meant to.
Teresa sighed dreamily, her heart pounding. She'd never seen this side of Andrea. The boy who had once made her tremble in fear was now making her tremble for another reason entirely.
She bit her lip and whispered to herself, "I can't believe we kissed…"
Then she smiled again, hiding her face in the pillow like a teenager with her first crush. Because no matter how confusing it was, no matter how scared she still was of his temper, a part of her—deep down—wanted to feel those lips again.