Chapter Four – Night of Sparks
Amara had been thinking about Joon-Ho since the library.
The way he’d said her name, the way his eyes had lingered on her face as if he was memorizing her—it haunted her in the quiet moments. She hated to admit it, but she wanted to see him again. She wanted to know what it would feel like if he touched her, if he leaned just a little closer.
Her roommate, Soo-Min, noticed.
“You keep drifting off,” Soo-Min teased one night, folding laundry. “What’s his name?”
Amara laughed, too quickly. “No one.”
“Mm-hmm. ‘No one’ has you blushing like this.” Soo-Min winked, then tossed her a little black dress. “Wear this tomorrow. There’s a party. You need it.”
Amara groaned. “A party? I don’t even—”
“No arguments,” Soo-Min cut her off. “Trust me. You’ll thank me.”
⸻
The house party pulsed with life—music shaking the floor, people dancing too close, laughter spilling from every corner. The air was thick with perfume and alcohol. Amara felt both out of place and electric, the black dress hugging her curves in a way that made her bold and self-conscious all at once.
She was sipping a drink in the kitchen when a voice slid through the noise.
“Didn’t think this was your scene.”
Her pulse jumped. She turned—and froze.
Joon-Ho.
He stood a few steps away, sleeves rolled, collar loose, his dark hair a little messy as if he’d run a hand through it. His eyes caught hers and held, heavy and unreadable.
“I could say the same,” Amara replied softly, trying to hide the sudden rush in her chest.
“Friends dragged me,” he said, moving closer, his gaze flicking briefly down her dress before returning to her eyes. He leaned on the counter near her, close enough that she felt the heat of him.
She lifted her cup with a faint smile. “You don’t strike me as the party type.”
“And you?” His voice dipped, softer now. “You don’t strike me as someone who drinks.”
“Maybe I’m full of surprises,” she teased, a spark of courage slipping out before she could stop it.
Joon-Ho’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but enough to make her stomach flutter.
⸻
Later, after too much noise and too many stares, Amara slipped upstairs to find quiet. The bedroom she entered was dimly lit, the bass from the music downstairs faint through the walls. She sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling.
The door opened. She looked up.
Joon-Ho.
He closed the door behind him, his gaze locked on hers. Something charged, dangerous, sat in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he said quietly.
Her lips parted. “Are you going to keep saying that?”
“Maybe,” he murmured, stepping closer.
Her heart raced. She wanted to move, to think, but her body betrayed her. “Joon-Ho…”
He stopped in front of her, close enough that his scent—clean, sharp, intoxicating—wrapped around her. His eyes searched hers, waiting.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered, surprising even herself.
Something in him broke. He reached for her, his hand sliding against her cheek, and then his mouth crashed onto hers.
The kiss was hungry, unrestrained, weeks of tension pouring out in a rush. She gasped, clutching at his shirt as he pulled her closer, pressing her back against the wall. His hands gripped her hips, her waist, her back, as if he couldn’t get close enough.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper. The kiss turned rougher, hotter, their breaths sharp and ragged as the world blurred around them.
When his lips trailed down her neck, she shivered, her body arching into him. “Joon-Ho…” she breathed, her voice trembling with need.
He groaned softly against her skin, his self-control unraveling. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, pulling him back to her mouth. “Don’t stop.”
They stumbled toward the bed, falling into the sheets in a tangle of limbs and laughter that quickly melted into heat. His hands slid over her curves, his touch both reverent and desperate, while her body burned beneath him. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it off, her eyes widening at the lean strength of him.
“Beautiful,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
He stilled for half a second, his eyes locking with hers, and then he kissed her again—deeper, harder. Clothes fell away, skin against skin, every barrier breaking. The air filled with their gasps, their whispered names, the sound of bodies moving together.
It was fire and tenderness all at once—urgent, overwhelming, yet threaded with something fragile, something real.
When it was over, they lay tangled in the sheets, chests heaving, the world outside forgotten. Silence wrapped around them, heavy with the truth they couldn’t yet say.
But in their hearts, they knew—
After this night, nothing could go back to the way it was. Morning light slipped through the half-closed curtains, warm and uninvited. Amara stirred, the sheets tangled around her bare skin, her head heavy from too little sleep and too much alcohol.
Her eyes opened slowly—and the first thing she noticed was the empty space beside her.
The pillow was cold. Joon-Ho was gone.
She sat up, heart thudding as memories of last night came rushing back—his mouth on hers, his hands gripping her as if he’d never let go, the fire that consumed them until there was nothing left but the sound of their breathing and the feel of their skin.
Her cheeks burned. A shiver ran down her spine. What have I done?
She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, her gaze darting to the floor where her dress and his shirt lay discarded. The sight made her chest ache with something she couldn’t name—part longing, part fear, part shame.
It hadn’t been planned. It hadn’t been careful. And now… now she didn’t know what it meant.
Amara pressed her hands to her face. Back in Cameroon, her mother had always told her to guard her heart. That love was powerful, dangerous, and not to be given away lightly. And here she was, in a foreign city, tangled up in something she wasn’t even sure was love—or if it was just desire.
Did it mean anything to him?
The thought cut deep.
She glanced around the room again, half-hoping he’d left a note, a sign, anything. But there was nothing. He’d left without waking her. Without a word.
Her throat tightened, and she whispered into the silence, “Joon-Ho…”
For a long moment, she just sat there, listening to the muffled echoes of the house waking up downstairs. Laughter. Music still faint from someone’s speaker. Life moving on as if nothing had changed.
But for Amara, everything had.
She closed her eyes, guilt and confusion twisting inside her. What if this was a mistake? What if I ruined everything before it even began?
And yet, beneath the fear, one undeniable truth burned in her chest—
She wanted him still.
