Juliet returned to James' house, her steps slower than usual, as if the walls themselves were watching her.
She pushed open her door—
—and froze.
On the bed lay a dress. Not just any dress.
Carefully arranged. Waiting.
Beside it, a pair of stiletto heels. A single red rose. A novel. And a handwritten letter.
Her chest tightened.
She moved closer, each step cautious, like she expected the scene to disappear if she blinked. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the letter and unfolded it.
Would you love to be my date tonight?
The words burned into her eyes.
For a moment, she didn't breathe.
Then suddenly—
She turned and walked out, faster now. Not knocking. Not thinking.
She pushed open James' door.
He was there. In his wheelchair. Watching her.
Juliet didn't greet him. Didn't hesitate. She walked straight in and dropped into the chair opposite him, holding up the letter like evidence.
"You wrote this?" Her voice was sharp, almost accusing.
James didn't flinch. "Yes."
"Why didn't you just ask me directly?" she demanded.
A pause.
"I did."
Juliet let out a short, disbelieving laugh, lifting the letter higher. "This? This is asking me directly?"
"I wanted you to read it," he said calmly, his eyes fixed on hers. "So you'd understand I meant every word."
Silence stretched between them—tight, suffocating.
Then he leaned forward slightly.
"So… would you love to be my date tonight?"
Juliet's grip on the letter tightened. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
"What if I start disrespecting you?" she shot back, her voice wavering despite her effort to sound firm.
A flicker of something crossed James' face—something almost like amusement.
"You've been disrespecting me since the first day you walked in here."
The words hit harder than she expected.
Another silence.
Heavy. Loaded.
"So," James said again, quieter this time, but more intense, "will you be my date tonight?"
Juliet hesitated.
For a second too long.
Then—"Yes."
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
She stood up immediately, as if staying any longer would expose too much. "Thank you… for the novel," she added quickly, avoiding his gaze.
And then she turned and walked out.
But the moment she stepped into the hallway, her composure cracked.
Her heart raced. Her thoughts tangled.
And behind her—
James didn't move.
He just watched the door she had closed…
as if he was already waiting for tonight.
Juliet stood outside the address James had sent, her heart beating faster with every passing second. The place looked too perfect—too intentional.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then she stepped forward.
James was already there.
Waiting.
His eyes found her instantly—and stilled.
"You're… beautiful," he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost careful.
Juliet felt her breath catch, but she forced a small smile. "Thank you. You clean up nicely too."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "That's what a rich man in a wheelchair is supposed to do."
She let out a soft laugh, but it didn't fully hide the tension curling in her chest.
Juliet moved behind him and gently took hold of the wheelchair, her fingers brushing against the handles as she pushed him forward. The contact sent a strange, unspoken charge between them.
Neither of them mentioned it.
At dinner, the air felt heavier than the food on the table.
They spoke. They laughed. But beneath it all—something deeper was building.
Then—
James reached across the table.
And held her hand.
Juliet froze.
His grip wasn't forceful… but it wasn't light either.
It was deliberate. Steady.
"Juliet…" he said, his voice dropping. "How would you describe love?"
Her throat went dry.
She looked at their joined hands, then back at him.
"Love…" she began slowly, choosing each word like it mattered, "is being there for someone when they're at their lowest… when they feel like they've lost everything."
James didn't respond.
He just kept looking at her—like he was searching for something in her answer.
Something only she could give.
—
The ride back home was quieter.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that says more than words ever could.
—
Later that night—
Juliet lay against James' chest, her head resting carefully, as if she was afraid the moment might shatter if she moved too much.
She could hear his heartbeat.
Fast.
Not as controlled as he pretended to be.
Then his voice came, low, almost uncertain—
"If I kiss you right now… will you slap me?"
Juliet's breath caught.
She tilted her head slightly, just enough to look at him.
"No," she whispered. "I won't slap you…"
A pause.
Her voice softened even more.
"…because I love you."
The words hung in the air—fragile, irreversible.
James went still.
For a second, it felt like the entire world had stopped with him.
Then, barely above a whisper—
"Will you be my girlfriend?"
Juliet didn't hesitate this time.
"Yes."
Something shifted in his eyes—relief, disbelief, something deeper.
Slowly… carefully… he lifted his hand and touched her face, guiding her closer.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them pulled away.
And then—
They kissed.
Not rushed.
Not uncertain.
But like two people who had been standing on the edge for too long…
and had finally fallen.