Chapter 4: Midnight Meetings and Moonlit Mysteries

I stumble into the garden.

The air is cold, sharp enough to cut through the fog in my mind, but not sharp enough to prepare me for him. He’s standing there, tall and broad, his long dark hair pulled into a messy bun. Loose strands frame his face, and he looks like he’s just stepped out of some gothic romance novel. The moonlight dances across his bare chest, highlighting muscles that could have been sculpted by the gods.

And then I notice the tree.

The poor thing looks like it’s been through all of his problems. Its bark is cracked, bits of splinters littering the ground. He’s panting, fists clenched, and I can practically feel the heat radiating off him even from a distance.

So naturally, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“What did the tree ever do to you?”

He freezes mid-breath. Slowly, he turns to face me, his dark, brooding eyes narrowing. For a second, I think I’ve made a horrible mistake. Maybe he’s some kind of forest guardian, and I’ve just insulted his life’s work.

But then, to my utter shock, he laughs. Not just a chuckle—a deep, hearty laugh that shakes his whole body. The sound is rich and unrestrained, like he hasn’t laughed in years and doesn’t know how to stop.

“You see a guy punching a tree in the middle of the night,” he says between breaths, “and that’s your question?”

I shrug, trying to suppress my own laughter. “Well, yeah. Trees don’t usually provoke violence.”

He smirks, his eyes sparkling in a way that makes me forget how cold the night is. “It’s therapy.”

“Therapy?” I raise an eyebrow. “What, are you training for some kind of anti-tree boxing league?”

He snorts, running a hand through his messy hair. “Something like that.”

I’m about to tease him further when I notice his hands—red, raw, and bleeding slightly. Instinctively, I step closer. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” he says, brushing it off, but I grab his hand anyway, inspecting it. “Seriously, I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see a first-aid kit strapped to that six-pack of yours,” I quip. “Come on, let me help.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets me fuss over his knuckles with the corner of my dress, dabbing away the blood as best as I can.

“You always wander into gardens at night?” he asks, his voice softer now.

“Only when mysterious strangers are beating up innocent trees,” I reply, glancing up at him. He’s watching me intently, his eyes darker than the night. It’s unnerving, like he’s peeling back every layer of me with just a look.

“So, what’s your story?” I ask, trying to break the tension. “Who are you, and why are you on a mission to destroy local flora?”

He hesitates, his gaze flickering to the ground. “Let’s just say I have… issues.”

“Don’t we all?” I mutter.

He laughs again, but this time it’s quieter, almost wistful. “Fair point.”

For a moment, we stand in silence, the night wrapping around us like a blanket. I should leave. I don’t even know this guy. But something about him feels... familiar. Like I’ve known him in another life or dreamed about him before. It’s ridiculous, but the feeling is so strong it makes my chest ache.

Then I see it. The birthmark.

On his chest, just above his heart, is a small, heart-shaped mark. My breath catches in my throat. “No way.”

He follows my gaze, his brows knitting together. “What?”

“That birthmark.” I point, barely able to believe what I’m seeing. “You’ve got a heart-shaped birthmark.”

He looks down, then back at me, confused. “Yeah? So?”

“So do I,” I blurt out.

Without thinking, I hike up the hem of my dress, revealing the identical mark on my right thigh. The moment I realize what I’ve done, my face goes up in flames. “Oh my goddess, I didn’t mean to— I mean, I was just trying to—”

But he’s not laughing this time. He’s staring at my leg, his expression unreadable. Slowly, his eyes travel back to mine, and the weight of his gaze pins me in place.

“You’re serious,” he says, his voice low and rough.

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Weird, right?”

“Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he mutters, stepping closer.

The air shifts again, heavier this time, charged with something I can’t name. He’s so close now, I can see the faint scar on his jaw, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

“Who are you?” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I breathe.

And then, before I can process what’s happening, he’s kissing me.

It’s not gentle or hesitant—it’s like a storm, fierce and all-consuming. His lips are warm and demanding, and I melt into him before I even realize what I’m doing. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and for a moment, nothing else exists. Just him and me and the wild, electric connection between us.

But then he pulls away, his breathing ragged. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, stepping back.

“Why?” I ask, my voice trembling. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “This… this isn’t supposed to happen.”

“What isn’t?” I demand, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You show up, kiss me, and now you’re acting like it’s some kind of mistake? What the hell is going on?”

He looks at me, his eyes filled with something I can’t name—fear, regret, longing. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

For a second, I think he’s going to explain, but instead, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows without another word.

I’m left standing there, my heart racing, my mind spinning. Who is he? Why do I feel like I’ve known him forever? And what the hell just happened?

One thing’s for sure—this night just got a lot more interesting.