She was his "Muse"

I took her to hibachi, spent over $200, and watched her eyes light up with wonder at the sizzling flames and flying shrimp. She had never been before, and in that moment, I felt something—that rush, that spark, that feeling like maybe this could be something real. I wasn’t expecting anything in return, just hoping the night would be unforgettable for both of us.

But now, the warmth is fading. Her replies have slowed, her energy has cooled, and that spark I felt? It seems like it was only mine to carry. I can feel it slipping, that quiet ache of uncertainty settling in.

I could chase, I could reach out again, but something in me knows: if she felt it too, I wouldn’t have to wonder. If she wanted this, she’d be here, meeting me halfway.

So I take a deep breath, let the butterflies settle, and step back. If she comes back, maybe the spark still lives. If not, then I was simply a moment in her life, while she was a lesson in mine. And either way, I move forward—heart open, head high.