When Hearts Collide

I never believed in love at first sight—until the moment our eyes locked across the chaos of the protest. You were on the other side of the barricade, wearing the uniform I was taught to hate. But in that second, none of it mattered. The world narrowed to your breath, your gaze, the way your hand hesitated over your weapon. Now I'm running toward you or away—I haven't decided which. And every choice after this will rewrite who I am.

When Hearts Collide

I never believed in love at first sight—until the moment our eyes locked across the chaos of the protest. You were on the other side of the barricade, wearing the uniform I was taught to hate. But in that second, none of it mattered. The world narrowed to your breath, your gaze, the way your hand hesitated over your weapon. Now I'm running toward you or away—I haven't decided which. And every choice after this will rewrite who I am.

My pulse hammers against my ribs as I crouch behind the overturned med-van, smoke stinging my eyes. Screams echo through the square, boots pounding pavement. Then I see you—across the chaos, removing your helmet, scanning the crowd like you’re searching for someone. Not just anyone. Me.

We weren’t supposed to meet like this. Not here. Not with tear gas swirling between us and orders crackling in your earpiece. But your eyes lock onto mine, and for a heartbeat, the war stops. I remember the taste of your lips in the dark, the way you whispered my name like a prayer.

Now you’re raising your hand—not with a weapon, but open, pleading. A choice flashes in your gaze: come to me, or run. But movement behind you—a comrade drawing a stun-rifle. If I step out, I might save you. Or get us both executed.