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Tides of the Past: The Guest
Mira lay on the plush sofa, the rhythmic crash of waves outside lulling her into a half-dream. The sun streamed through the open window, warming her skin as she curled deeper into her nap. She barely noticed the distant murmur of voices, the faint thud of footsteps on the wooden floor, until one voice cut through the haze like a cold wind.
"Where should we sit, Jonathan?" a familiar, deep voice echoed.
Mira's heart skipped. That voice. She blinked awake, her mind swimming in disbelief. Slowly, she sat up, her eyes scanning the grand living room of their beach house, which felt too large, too empty, like her marriage to Jonathan. He had insisted they move here, claiming the ocean views were inspiring for his work. In truth, it was a showpiece—a flex for his equally wealthy friends, and for her to parade around like some exotic prize.
Her husband’s laughter boomed from the hallway, pulling her attention to the door as three men walked into the room.
The first one was Jonathan, of course, tall, well-dressed, and perfectly polished in his white linen suit. He glanced at her briefly, flashing that performative smile of his, before turning back to his guests. Behind him, two men followed. One of them was a shorter man with sandy-blond hair and an easygoing demeanor. Professor Mark Dawson, a former college professor, was known for his relaxed attitude and frequent jokes in class. He was attractive in his own way, with a casual charm. Mira hadn’t thought much about him back then, but now, seeing him again, she realized just how much he had been part of the world she thought she’d left behind. He smiled when their eyes met, and Mira managed a polite nod, though her attention was already slipping elsewhere.
Because behind him…
Mira felt her breath catch in her throat as Professor Samuel Warren stepped into the room.
He looked almost exactly the same. The slight gray in his hair only added to his distinguished air. His sharp brown eyes, which had once watched her in the dim light of his office, now scanned the room as if searching for something. When his gaze finally landed on her, it lingered, just for a beat too long.
Jonathan was already speaking, oblivious. "And this is Mira, my lovely wife. You might remember her from some of the college events back in the day." His tone was dismissive, like she was part of the furniture.
But Samuel's eyes were locked on her, a shadow of recognition darkening his face. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, memories of stolen kisses in his office and late-night meetings coming back like a tidal wave.
“Mira,” Samuel greeted, his voice smooth but laced with tension. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s been a long time.”
“Professor Warren,” she replied, forcing her voice to remain steady. Her fingers clenched the edge of the sofa, her heart hammering in her chest.
He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “We’re past titles, aren’t we?”
Mira swallowed, feeling Jonathan’s eyes on her. “Yes… Samuel.”
Jonathan chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrent in the room. "Samuel and I are old friends. You never told me you two knew each other well."
Mira’s throat tightened. She felt exposed, as if the carefully constructed facade of her life with Jonathan could crumble at any moment. "We... crossed paths."
Jonathan grinned, clearly proud of his wife’s past association with esteemed professors. “How about a drink?” he offered, heading toward the bar, leaving her alone with Samuel and Mark.
Mark gave her a friendly smile, trying to lighten the tension. “It’s nice to see you again, Mira. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Mira nodded, managing a small smile. “Likewise, Professor Dawson. It’s been a while.”
The silence stretched between them, tension thick enough to cut, as Jonathan busied himself at the bar.
As Mira sat up on the sofa, her skin still warm from the sun filtering through the windows, she suddenly became acutely aware of what she was wearing: a skimpy bikini, a choice Jonathan had encouraged her to wear for their lazy afternoon by the beach. She had planned to lounge around with no interruptions, never expecting guests—certainly not these guests.
Samuel and Mark stood by the door, their eyes lingering a moment too long on her exposed skin. It wasn’t obvious to anyone but her. She knew the looks, the way they quickly masked them behind polite smiles.
Mark cleared his throat, his eyes darting away to some invisible point on the wall, ever the gentleman. Samuel, however, kept his gaze fixed on her, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her neck, down to the gentle swell of her cleavage where the fabric of her bikini dipped invitingly. Mira felt the heat rise up her neck, her skin tingling under his scrutiny. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and she became uncomfortably conscious of the length of her legs, the curve of her hips, the way her skin glistened under the soft light. The air in the room suddenly stifled, charged with an unspoken intimacy that left her breathless.
Jonathan, as if sensing his wife discomfort, waved his hand dismissively as if brushing off any notion of modesty.
“Mira, darling, you don’t need to change. You look stunning as always,” Jonathan said, his voice dripping with pride. He flashed a smile at his friends. “Don’t you think?”
Mark gave an awkward smile and a nod, eager to avoid any further tension. Samuel, however, stepped closer, his voice low as he murmured, “You’ve always had a way of turning heads, haven’t you, Mira?”
Mira’s breath hitched. She could feel Jonathan’s obliviousness behind her, the weight of Samuel’s gaze in front of her. The heat between them was palpable, a decade of unresolved feelings pressing in.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Mira, I didn’t expect to see you here. Married to him of all people.”
“Does it matter?” she shot back quietly, her pulse racing. “It’s been ten years. You’re just… a guest.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And yet… you’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice a dark promise. “You think it’s over, but I haven’t forgotten.” His gaze held hers, searching. “Does he know?”
Mira’s eyes flickered to where Jonathan stood at the bar, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind him. She met Samuel’s gaze again, a fire burning in her chest. "Of course not. It was over. It is over. I’m married now, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“To him?” Samuel’s gaze flicked toward Jonathan, then back to her. His voice was soft but insistent, his eyes dark with something between longing and anger. "You married him for the money. You think I don’t know that?"
She stiffened. "And you? You married your career."
Samuel smirked, stepping even closer, the air between them buzzing with unresolved tension. “Fair enough. But you don’t love him, do you? You married for comfort, security… not love.”
Mira stiffened, feeling exposed. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know more than you think.” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “You can’t lie to me, Mira. I know what we had. And I know you’re not over it.”
“What we had was a mistake,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He laughed again, low and bitter. “Then why are you shaking?”
The words hung in the air, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them. Mira glanced toward Jonathan again, his back turned as he poured drinks, still the perfect host. She wanted to scream, to run, to shake off the suffocating life she’d built, but all she could do was stand there, frozen between the past and the present.
Before she could answer, Jonathan returned, carrying a tray of drinks. “Here we are! To old friends,” he said cheerfully, handing them glasses. He raised his own in a toast, oblivious to the crackling tension. “And new beginnings.”
Mira forced a smile, raising her glass in unison. But as she sipped, her mind raced. What was Samuel doing here? Why now, after all these years? And more importantly—how long could she keep her carefully constructed life from unraveling?
Samuel’s gaze bore into her, unspoken words swirling between them. The drink turned to ash in her mouth as the weight of her choices settled heavy on her shoulders.
Whatever happened next, Mira knew one thing for sure: this was far from over.
---
The sound of the ocean outside their beach house felt more like a countdown, each wave pulling her deeper into the storm she thought she’d left behind.
© reddragonfly
#SamuelxMira #forbiddenlove
"Where should we sit, Jonathan?" a familiar, deep voice echoed.
Mira's heart skipped. That voice. She blinked awake, her mind swimming in disbelief. Slowly, she sat up, her eyes scanning the grand living room of their beach house, which felt too large, too empty, like her marriage to Jonathan. He had insisted they move here, claiming the ocean views were inspiring for his work. In truth, it was a showpiece—a flex for his equally wealthy friends, and for her to parade around like some exotic prize.
Her husband’s laughter boomed from the hallway, pulling her attention to the door as three men walked into the room.
The first one was Jonathan, of course, tall, well-dressed, and perfectly polished in his white linen suit. He glanced at her briefly, flashing that performative smile of his, before turning back to his guests. Behind him, two men followed. One of them was a shorter man with sandy-blond hair and an easygoing demeanor. Professor Mark Dawson, a former college professor, was known for his relaxed attitude and frequent jokes in class. He was attractive in his own way, with a casual charm. Mira hadn’t thought much about him back then, but now, seeing him again, she realized just how much he had been part of the world she thought she’d left behind. He smiled when their eyes met, and Mira managed a polite nod, though her attention was already slipping elsewhere.
Because behind him…
Mira felt her breath catch in her throat as Professor Samuel Warren stepped into the room.
He looked almost exactly the same. The slight gray in his hair only added to his distinguished air. His sharp brown eyes, which had once watched her in the dim light of his office, now scanned the room as if searching for something. When his gaze finally landed on her, it lingered, just for a beat too long.
Jonathan was already speaking, oblivious. "And this is Mira, my lovely wife. You might remember her from some of the college events back in the day." His tone was dismissive, like she was part of the furniture.
But Samuel's eyes were locked on her, a shadow of recognition darkening his face. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, memories of stolen kisses in his office and late-night meetings coming back like a tidal wave.
“Mira,” Samuel greeted, his voice smooth but laced with tension. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s been a long time.”
“Professor Warren,” she replied, forcing her voice to remain steady. Her fingers clenched the edge of the sofa, her heart hammering in her chest.
He raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “We’re past titles, aren’t we?”
Mira swallowed, feeling Jonathan’s eyes on her. “Yes… Samuel.”
Jonathan chuckled, oblivious to the undercurrent in the room. "Samuel and I are old friends. You never told me you two knew each other well."
Mira’s throat tightened. She felt exposed, as if the carefully constructed facade of her life with Jonathan could crumble at any moment. "We... crossed paths."
Jonathan grinned, clearly proud of his wife’s past association with esteemed professors. “How about a drink?” he offered, heading toward the bar, leaving her alone with Samuel and Mark.
Mark gave her a friendly smile, trying to lighten the tension. “It’s nice to see you again, Mira. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Mira nodded, managing a small smile. “Likewise, Professor Dawson. It’s been a while.”
The silence stretched between them, tension thick enough to cut, as Jonathan busied himself at the bar.
As Mira sat up on the sofa, her skin still warm from the sun filtering through the windows, she suddenly became acutely aware of what she was wearing: a skimpy bikini, a choice Jonathan had encouraged her to wear for their lazy afternoon by the beach. She had planned to lounge around with no interruptions, never expecting guests—certainly not these guests.
Samuel and Mark stood by the door, their eyes lingering a moment too long on her exposed skin. It wasn’t obvious to anyone but her. She knew the looks, the way they quickly masked them behind polite smiles.
Mark cleared his throat, his eyes darting away to some invisible point on the wall, ever the gentleman. Samuel, however, kept his gaze fixed on her, his dark eyes tracing the curve of her neck, down to the gentle swell of her cleavage where the fabric of her bikini dipped invitingly. Mira felt the heat rise up her neck, her skin tingling under his scrutiny. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and she became uncomfortably conscious of the length of her legs, the curve of her hips, the way her skin glistened under the soft light. The air in the room suddenly stifled, charged with an unspoken intimacy that left her breathless.
Jonathan, as if sensing his wife discomfort, waved his hand dismissively as if brushing off any notion of modesty.
“Mira, darling, you don’t need to change. You look stunning as always,” Jonathan said, his voice dripping with pride. He flashed a smile at his friends. “Don’t you think?”
Mark gave an awkward smile and a nod, eager to avoid any further tension. Samuel, however, stepped closer, his voice low as he murmured, “You’ve always had a way of turning heads, haven’t you, Mira?”
Mira’s breath hitched. She could feel Jonathan’s obliviousness behind her, the weight of Samuel’s gaze in front of her. The heat between them was palpable, a decade of unresolved feelings pressing in.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “Mira, I didn’t expect to see you here. Married to him of all people.”
“Does it matter?” she shot back quietly, her pulse racing. “It’s been ten years. You’re just… a guest.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And yet… you’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice a dark promise. “You think it’s over, but I haven’t forgotten.” His gaze held hers, searching. “Does he know?”
Mira’s eyes flickered to where Jonathan stood at the bar, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind him. She met Samuel’s gaze again, a fire burning in her chest. "Of course not. It was over. It is over. I’m married now, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“To him?” Samuel’s gaze flicked toward Jonathan, then back to her. His voice was soft but insistent, his eyes dark with something between longing and anger. "You married him for the money. You think I don’t know that?"
She stiffened. "And you? You married your career."
Samuel smirked, stepping even closer, the air between them buzzing with unresolved tension. “Fair enough. But you don’t love him, do you? You married for comfort, security… not love.”
Mira stiffened, feeling exposed. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know more than you think.” His voice dropped lower, almost a growl. “You can’t lie to me, Mira. I know what we had. And I know you’re not over it.”
“What we had was a mistake,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He laughed again, low and bitter. “Then why are you shaking?”
The words hung in the air, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them. Mira glanced toward Jonathan again, his back turned as he poured drinks, still the perfect host. She wanted to scream, to run, to shake off the suffocating life she’d built, but all she could do was stand there, frozen between the past and the present.
Before she could answer, Jonathan returned, carrying a tray of drinks. “Here we are! To old friends,” he said cheerfully, handing them glasses. He raised his own in a toast, oblivious to the crackling tension. “And new beginnings.”
Mira forced a smile, raising her glass in unison. But as she sipped, her mind raced. What was Samuel doing here? Why now, after all these years? And more importantly—how long could she keep her carefully constructed life from unraveling?
Samuel’s gaze bore into her, unspoken words swirling between them. The drink turned to ash in her mouth as the weight of her choices settled heavy on her shoulders.
Whatever happened next, Mira knew one thing for sure: this was far from over.
---
The sound of the ocean outside their beach house felt more like a countdown, each wave pulling her deeper into the storm she thought she’d left behind.
© reddragonfly
#SamuelxMira #forbiddenlove
