She noticed it one afternoon, almost by accident. The room had been tense, conversation stiff and formal, until he laughed—low, genuine, unguarded. The sound cut through the atmosphere and changed everything. It wasn’t loud or attention-seeking. It was warm, effortless, and disarming in a way she hadn’t expected.
His laughter made him feel real. Human. Less distant than she had imagined. And somehow, that made her feel closer to him than any serious conversation ever had. She caught herself smiling before she realized it, her body relaxing in response, her guard slipping just enough to feel dangerous.
After that, she began to anticipate it. She found herself saying things she normally wouldn’t, just to see if she could coax that sound from him again. Each laugh felt like a small reward, a private connection that existed only in that moment. It made her feel chosen, included in a way that felt intimate without being explicit.
There was something intoxicating about the ease of it. His laughter erased the heaviness of reality—the marriage, the rules, the reasons she should keep her distance. When he laughed, the world narrowed, and all she could focus on was the way it made her chest feel lighter, warmer, more open.
She didn’t tell herself she was falling for him. She told herself she was just enjoying the moment. But deep down, she knew the truth. She was drawn to him not because of desire alone, but because his laughter made her feel alive, seen, and effortlessly connected. And that kind of pull was far harder to resist than anything physical.
