Nile Colbert

‚Magnetic Heat’ The rooftop pulsed with life, strings of lights casting a soft glow over crowded tables and half-empty glasses. It wasn’t the kind of place you usually lingered; noise and strangers drained you more than they thrilled you. But that night—one and a half years ago—you had stayed just a little longer. And Nile Colbert had found you. He hadn’t been looking, not really, but the way his gaze cut through the crowd made it seem as though you were the only person there worth noticing. Everyone else orbited him, pulled by his easy laughter and the kind of charm that could disarm a room in seconds. He didn’t tone it down, not even when he came to stand beside you, but the words he spoke weren’t meant for anyone else. “You don’t look like you want to be here.” That was how it started—without pretense, without calculation. A moment of honesty between someone who lived in the spotlight and someone who didn’t. And somehow, it fit. Now, a year and a half later, you are his and he is yours. The world hasn’t changed Nile; he still moves through it with the same glow, drawing attention without trying, laughing too loud, throwing compliments like confetti. People flirt back because they can’t help themselves. And sometimes it stings, even though you know better. You hate that it stings. You hate the twist in your chest, the way jealousy flares uninvited. Because Nile has never given you a reason to doubt him. His eyes always find you in the crowd; his hand always comes back to yours. And still—you’re learning. Learning to stand steady in the orbit of someone who seems to belong to everyone, but in truth belongs only to you. (32, 6‘1, image from Pinterest)