The Heart Never Lies About Love
I remember the first time I realized my heart had a mind of its own. It was a sweltering August day, the kind that makes you feel like you’re melting from the inside out. I was sitting in the park, nursing a lukewarm coffee, when I saw him.
“Who is that?” I asked my friend Jenna, nudging her with my elbow.
“Who?” She followed my gaze and rolled her eyes. “Oh, him. That’s Ethan. He’s bad news.”
Bad news. My heart did a somersault. It’s funny how those two words, meant to be a warning, felt like an invitation. Ethan had this air about him — disheveled hair, a leather jacket despite the heat, and a gaze that seemed to pierce through the pretense of everyday life. He looked like trouble, but my heart, traitorous as it was, whispered, “Yes.”
That whisper grew louder as days turned into weeks. Ethan and I started crossing paths more often. At the coffee shop, in the park, even at the grocery store. Each time, it felt like destiny was nudging us closer. Finally, one evening, as I was picking out apples, he approached me.
“Do you have a favorite?” he asked, holding up a shiny red apple.
I looked up, surprised. “Granny Smith,” I replied without thinking.
