They chose a restaurant built like a glasshouse along the East River.It was called Glass River, a name that reflected perfectly its setting: three walls of glass, with the city lights dancing across the rippling water just beyond.
They had taken a cab together from the community center, laughing the whole way. Their conversation leapt from children's illustrations to New York's historic architecture and didn't stop until the moment they stepped inside.
The server led them to a window-side table. As Allison sat down, she could still feel the faint, river-scented breeze drifting in through the seams. She had changed into a smoky blue dress with a slightly high waistline and wore a white knitted shawl over her shoulders. She sat straight, her fingers gently toying with the base of her wine glass, but her gaze remained out the window—still lingering somewhere between the echoes of laughter and the colors of the classroom.
"You look like you just stepped out of a watercolor painting," Sebastian said, flipping through the menu and glancing at her. "One that belongs on the cover, no less."
"I think you're being just a little too smooth tonight." She raised an eyebrow at him, though a small smile was already tugging at her lips.
They ordered braised short ribs, with caramelized onion soup and sea-salt seared scallops as starters. The wine—his recommendation—was a bottle of dry white Bordeaux. Not too strong, but full of soft, lingering notes.
Their conversation, this time, was lighter, more playful.
"Do you still write poetry?" she asked suddenly.
"Only when I'm drafting meeting agendas," he replied, taking a sip of wine. "Not that anyone would ever publish a real estate guy's sonnets."
"You never know. Maybe the New York Times art column would come knocking."
"Would you design my book cover?"
"Maybe." She smiled teasingly. "But you'll have to accept being illustrated as a giraffe."
The restaurant lighting was soft, like a thin mist gently layered between them. Every smile felt like a bubble sealed in amber—light, warm, and floating.
After dinner, he suggested a walk by the river. She didn't refuse.
They walked side by side along the paved path. The city lights flickered in the water, trembling gently with the waves. It felt as though the city had shed its daytime clamor, leaving behind only this quiet, almost romantic night.
When they reached a small platform, he stopped and turned to face her.
"Allison." His voice was soft but unusually serious.
She looked up at him, and her heart skipped a beat.
"These past few weeks, I've been thinking about how to say this," he said. "But now I realize—maybe I don't need the perfect lead-in."
She held her breath, her fingers tightening slightly under the shawl.
"I like you." He spoke slowly, each word tender yet certain. "I want to know you more. Be closer to you—not just as a friend."
Allison didn't respond right away. She looked down, hiding the sudden heat in her eyes.
So many tangled feelings surged in her chest. She wanted to tell him it wasn't just his background that made her hesitate—she wasn't as simple as she seemed either. There were too many things she couldn't explain, too many secrets she couldn't reveal. But she couldn't—she wouldn't—let those shadows dim the light of his sincerity.
She took a quiet breath, then slowly raised her head.
"You know we come from two different worlds, right?" Her voice dropped a little, cautious and searching.
"I know," he said, a faint laugh curling at the edge of his lips. His gaze was soft enough to melt through anything. "But I also know—I want us to make a world of our own."
In that moment, all logic and resistance blurred.
She reached out, gently wrapped her fingers around his, and nodded.
There were no words like "I like you too," but this gesture said far more than any sentence could.
He held her hand tighter and leaned down to place the softest kiss on her forehead.
That night, they went back to his lakeside house—a quiet, beautiful place, just like the mood between them.
Everything was slow and natural, like nightfall dissolving gently into the room.He poured her a glass of warm water. She draped a soft throw blanket over his shoulders beneath the standing lamp.Then, without knowing who leaned in first, or who gently cupped the back of whose neck—
The kiss began in silence.And in silence, it deepened.
There were no words, only heartbeats growing closer.
Her fingertips grazed the side of his neck. His palm rested gently against her back. He kissed her with care and quiet intensity, as though afraid of breaking something sacred. They melted together on the soft couch, wrapped in shadows and warmth—like the night itself was cradling them closer.
The lights stayed on. Outside, the city slumbered beneath the stars.But in that moment, they had stepped into their own, private universe.
—
The days that followed felt like the beginning of a brand-new chapter.
Every morning, he sent her a cheerful "Good morning"—sometimes with a selfie of a smiling coffee foam face.At night, she would text him a sketch she'd just finished, with a caption like:"I drew your eyebrows, but I still can't get that frown just right."
They ate hot dogs on benches in Central Park, watched black-and-white films in tiny alleyway cinemas.He joined her on art supply runs. She stayed after his three-hour board meetings, laying out a blanket on his office floor like a makeshift camp.
They left pieces of themselves in each other's worlds.Nights often began with a simple kiss and ended with fingers intertwined until dawn.
Allison found herself relying on him more and more—not in a way that demanded protection, but in the way that made her finally willing to let go of a piece of herself… and trust someone else to catch it.
She didn't dare think too far ahead.But for now—she had fallen, fully and sweetly, into this love.