Across the room, his eyes met hers - the joining of two lost souls, searching for someone to find them. It wasn’t a moment that stopped time around them. It wasn’t a moment that had resounding orchestral accompaniment. There were no fireworks. There was no parade.
That didn’t mean it couldn’t change his world.
In a spontaneous act of tremendous will and utter sacrilege, he broke away and glanced at the floor. It was too late - they had both seen what had been there, but only he was scared of what it meant. He had thought it was all long over; maybe she was right when she said that some flames never die - they just smolder.
He had no idea that such a small act could revive dying feelings, breathing into them a new life he'd almost forgotten. The scary part was knowing it would die again. It would never be a question of if, or maybe, but when. For some people, he'd seen an eternal bond that could never break. For them, the bond was more like a thin piece of paper, and time dropped grains of sand onto it with every passing day. They could replace the paper forever, but it would always break.
He watched helplessly as she got out of her seat and walked toward him. Each light step she took shook the floor. Each strand of hair she brushed out of her face caused a gale to blow by. She was shining like the moon and no one could see it.
No one but him.
She came and sat. And nothing more. In silence, they spoke more than any trifling words could ever say.
The roar inside him was deafening. It was the sound of all his broken pieces reforming into something new and then shattering once more into thousands of smaller shards. He knew she'd taken some of those pieces. He would never see them again, and that was all right - as right as it could be, anyway.
After a few years passed with the two sitting there, he saw her look at him, out of the corner of his eye. Even though he'd been filled with new life, somewhere inside, he felt a part of him die. He couldn’t turn to meet her lonely stare.
Instead, he got up and walked out of the room. He paced himself down the hallway. He made his way to the front door, stopping only long enough to resist the temptation to look back. And then, quietly, he left.
But the life - the fire - never did.
Author's notes: I'm putting these notes at the end as not to influence a reader who hasn't seen this piece yet. I almost put it in Romance, but upon a second glance I realized that I didn't want it boxed up like that. And it's not much of a Romance anyway.