Anna sits on the floor with her legs stretched comfortably apart as she sorts through a loose stack of papers spread out in front of her. The sun is just beginning to rise, sending soft beams of white and yellow light across the room through the tall windows. She’s still in her nightgown, a sheer white thing that seems to glow as the sunlight touches it. She looks peaceful, almost serene, as she works.

She’s alone, with no plans and no obligations waiting for her. Every so often she lifts her mug and takes a slow sip of coffee, savoring the rare quiet of a morning that belongs entirely to her. There’s no need to hurry. No one needs her attention. She can simply sit, breathe, and enjoy the stillness.

As she pins her hair up, she pauses. She thinks she hears something. She tilts her head and listens. All she can make out at first is the familiar noise from the street below: cars pulling away from lights, horns, people calling out to each other. It’s a constant backdrop she’s learned to tune out.

Then she hears it again. Not from outside, but from inside her apartment. In the hallway behind her. Soft footsteps, muted but unmistakable. Her heart jumps. She lives alone. She’s single, unattached, friendly with many people but close to only a few. She never invites acquaintances over, and her friends would never just appear unannounced. Whoever is here shouldn’t be.

Her first instinct is to turn around, but something stops her. There’s no threat in the sound. The footsteps are gentle, almost careful, and she feels no fear. Instead, a strange mix of panic and euphoria rises in her chest. It must be him, she thinks. But how?

They’ve never met in person. Only through the occasional video chat in her spiritual meet‑up group. She knows him only as Christian. Last names aren’t allowed. She’s shown her face on camera, but he never has, so all she knows is his voice. They’ve spent hours talking about philosophy and spirituality, each fascinated by the other’s mind. Yet beneath the words there was always something else, something unspoken but unmistakable, as if their thoughts and spirits brushed against each other despite the distance.

She never imagined herself caught up in a cyber‑romance. It feels unreal in theory, yet nothing about it feels unreal to her. The emotions are the same ones she’s known in past relationships: tenderness, elation, closeness, and the occasional sting of disappointment. She loves her independence and the quiet of living alone, but she’s also grateful to be understood by someone who seems to live mostly in his inner world, someone who can meet her beyond words, without ever touching her. It aches to think it might always stay at a distance.

Anna lets herself move with his energy. She longs to feel his hands around her from behind, but somehow every note of him that reaches her has the same effect. She feels protected, yet free, encouraged to feel everything that rises in her.

She pictures Christian standing on a cliff’s edge, a storm rolling toward him, wind pressing his clothes tight against his body. But the storm isn’t stronger than what he carries inside. He stands there with a confidence and power that seem to gather all his potential into one moment.

When they talk, she likes knowing he watches her with longing. He often asks her to show herself to him, and she does. She savors the sound of his breath catching when he realizes he can see her but can’t touch her, can’t breathe in the scent that belongs only to her. She enjoys the quiet power of that. But now the balance has shifted. Now it’s his turn. He has found his way to her.

But wait. He’s gentle, yes, but it can’t be him. He’s a world away. Thousands of miles separate them. She begins to turn, but it’s already too late. Someone is behind her, his legs aligned with hers, his body warm against her back. Christian’s hands come to rest on either side of her face, guiding her to stay facing forward. His touch is careful, almost reverent, just firm enough to tell her she’s safe, that it’s him, and that he wants her to let go and trust him. Now that he’s here in her apartment, she doesn’t care that she feels exposed, as if her whole life and every secret she carries have been placed at his feet.

How can this be? She feels his breath on the back of her neck, warm and steady. It invites her closer without a word, and her body responds before she can think. The sensation rises from her neck, spreads through her chest, and settles deep in her center. As he holds her, it feels as though he’s holding something more than her body, something shared between them. Neither of them speaks. She tells herself again that it can’t be him. It shouldn’t be possible.

Then he kisses her. It’s soft, almost shy, just the gentle meeting of lips. And she knows instantly that by accepting it, by returning it, she has stepped across a line she can’t uncross. Something in her life has shifted, quietly but permanently. He feels it too. She senses it in the way he breathes, in the small, knowing laugh that escapes him as the truth settles between them.

He moves his hands along the sides of her body. She melts, no longer in control. Her gown is thin, and she can feel every micro-movement. She can feel his muscles and his strength as his arms press against her, muscles that do not come from his job sitting at a desk and typing. His hands lightly touch the sides of her breasts, and she gasps. Anna wants more than anything to feel the uncompromising sexuality that washes over her as she presses herself against him. This is the proverbial decisive moment, both spontaneous and ephemeral. In the past, she had let the moment pass until it was lost, never to be found again. Not this time. Anna gives herself permission to succumb, and she embraces him with all of her being.

Her breathing quickens as his right hand moves across her stomach, then along the top of her legs. His breath continues to lie upon her neck, becoming shallow now with his own arousal.

His hands reach the inside of her thighs, starting at her knees. He moved upwards, and she began to arch in anticipation. In the past, she would not have enjoyed this seduction. Too much would be swirling in her head: shame brought on by endless indoctrination that sex is bad or worrying about this man’s intentions. In the past, there was only muted joy in the act. Not this time, not with him.

She feels the moistness between her thighs increase as he inches closer. He suddenly grabs her by the arm and twists her toward the floor. She instinctively closes her eyes. Her fear is gone. He has made love to her before, with his words, with his poetry, and with his music. No one quite understands her like he does.

Christian lays her gently on the floor, her eyes still closed. She feels his hands move her nightgown toward her stomach. He kisses her thigh, repeatedly, and she can feel his hot breath on her pudenda, but he passes and moves to her stomach. Anna knows that he knows she wants him, but he lets the anticipation build. Right then, Christian kisses her squarely on the mouth. It is a gentle kiss, a prolonged kiss.

She can feel Christian’s manhood between her legs seeking its destination. She reaches down and grasps its enormity as she gently guides it into her. At first, their movements are slow, back, and forth, then quicker. Her breath becomes deeper and louder and faster. Her body aches as the pleasure and pain of his thrusting rushes toward her and converges into a body-shattering orgasm.

Bang! Her eyes fly open. Anna sits up in bed, dazed and confused. A moment later she hears the metallic thud of a trash bin lid closing in the alley and realizes it was only her neighbor. As her mind clears, the truth settles in. Christian was only a dream. She exhales slowly, disappointment washing over her as she thinks of their long conversations and the strange, powerful connection they shared despite never meeting face to face. She sinks back into her pillow, trying to hold on to the vivid images and the energy that had wrapped around her in sleep.

She rests her head again and reaches for the feeling of him, hoping it will return. Sleep comes easily, the way it did when she was a child, soft and full of dreams. There is no guilt, no hesitation. Being with Christian feels good and right, even if it exists only in her mind. She can still sense his arms around her, her cheek resting against his chest as she drifts off once more, her whole body loose and free of tension.

When she wakes later and gets up to face the day, to shower, to work, her thoughts go straight back to him. She can’t stand the idea that the intensity she felt was only a dream. She longs for the realness of touch, the warmth of another presence. Christian feels both wild in his innocence and almost otherworldly in his gentleness. She can sense it around her even now, and somehow it strengthens her.

She tells herself she has to see him. She needs to experience, face to face, the passion his presence stirs in her. The thought makes her smile. She believes she can make it happen. She believes it has to happen. Until then, she’ll settle for his words, his poetry, his music, and the strange closeness of their virtual moments, both online and in her dreams.