Waltz Time - Entry 21 - After the Serenade
Waltz Time: Entry 21 - After the Serenade
“Some moments don’t ask to be claimed. They ask to be noticed.”
It didn’t go further. It could have. We had been more intimate in the past. But that night, I hesitated, still finding my footing, and maybe he sensed it. Perhaps he understood that this moment needed space more than momentum.
What stayed with me was not what we didn’t do, but what we did. The restraint. The respect. The way the kiss held meaning without needing to prove anything.
Outside, the night air met me, and I walked toward the subway. The platform was nearly empty. Underground, the air felt metallic and familiar. I stood waiting, replaying nothing in particular and everything all at once. A serenade, tacos, wine, laughter. And that kiss.
On the train, I watched my reflection blur in the darkened window. I didn’t try to define what had just happened. I let it sit.
When I got off, I chose to walk the rest of the way home. The city was quiet, storefronts dimmed, streetlights stretching shadows across the sidewalk. Each block felt like a breath.
By the time I reached my apartment, the shift had followed me inside. My keys sounded louder than usual in the lock. The stillness greeted me, familiar but unsettled.
I thought about calling my mother. I knew exactly how that would go.
She would be ecstatic. Raised on tradition, on Sunday dinners and expectations carried quietly, she had always imagined the eldest daughter arriving properly, the big Italian wedding, the long tables, the certainty of arrival.
I loved her for that dream. But I wasn’t ready to hand this moment over to it. So I sat on the edge of my bed and picked up the phone, and stared at my little sister’s name on the touch dial. We are close in age and close in the way that doesn’t require explanation. We are both budding artists, so I could count on her supportive words. She knew my pauses, my half sentences. I pressed call. She answered right away.
“So,” she said, “tell me about him. How did you meet?”
I laughed softly. “There isn’t much to tell yet.”
She didn’t believe that. “Try me.”
I told her how we met, how the night unfolded without effort.
“And how do you feel?” she asked.
“That’s the thing,” I said. “This guy is different. I mean, he wrote a song for me and played it on his guitar tonight. It was overwhelming, Sis. I was really surprised, moved, and completely speechless. I could feel myself blush and sort of panic...it was very sexy...he sounded like Bruce Springsteen!”
She stayed quiet.
“You know the guys I’ve dated,” I continued. “They weren’t bad, they just weren’t very deep. Everything stayed on the surface. Conversation, connection, even romance. It never went very far.” I paused. “With him, there was intention. Curiosity. Feeling. He wasn’t performing. He was present.”
I was seriously rambling, but she let the silence sit, which is incredibly out of character for her.
“That sounds,” she said finally, “like something worth paying attention to.”
“I know,” I said. “But I finally booked an important meeting with an agent tomorrow, and I need to be clear and rested. I want a career, and besides, I hardly know him. I don’t want to rush anything, but I am really being pulled in.”
She smiled into the phone. I could hear it.
“That sounds like you,” she said. “Centered, but sometimes love comes when you least expect it, and it's up to you to decide to explore further."
When we hung up, the apartment felt quieter again, but softer now. I went to bed knowing one thing for certain. Something had followed me home.
Not expectation. Not fantasy. Just a quiet, undeniable pull, asking nothing, promising nothing, but already changing the way the room felt.
💗
Anna
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