The stopwatch in her head starts the second his lips touch hers.

It starts innocently. He leans in, and just as quick, leans out. His mouth is still millimeters away from hers and his breath washes over her face. His eyes look into hers questioningly, as if asking for permission -- testing his boundaries.

7.8 seconds: the time it takes her to run a 55.

This time, she leans in, and it’s nothing like the first. His hands find their place on the small of her back while hers go for his hair. His fingers begin to trace her spine, leaving creases in her shirt and shivers in her body. Her hands move from the jungle of tangles and trail down to his chest. She can feel the beat of his heart racing through the thin fabric of his shirt. She wonders if that’s what her heart feels like in a race.

12.9 seconds: the time it takes her to run a 100.

They’re sitting in her room on that old, green couch. The Bio textbook that was lying open moments ago is now long forgotten on the floor. Her childhood stuffed animals that lined the top are messy and out of place. She’s almost positive that there was music playing in the background, but she barely has time to register those thoughts.

28.8 seconds: the time it takes her to run a 200.

He leans back again, only this time there’s a devilish smile to match his sharp features. His chest is rising periodically with his rough breaths.
His hair, usually tamed by hair gel, is wild and hanging over his chocolate eyes. When he grins, she swears she melts inside. He goes right back in, barely leaving her time to catch her breath.

46.2 seconds: the time it takes her
to run a 300.

His arms are wrapped around her now, like an embrace. It reminds her of not too long ago when their relationship was just flirtatious words and long hugs. She thinks of how less than a minute ago, they were just that, just friends. Now a quick kiss changes everything. What she doesn’t think about is how it can end as fast as it began.

61.1 seconds: the time it takes her to run a 400.

When he pulls away this time, it’s for good. The warmth in her body is gone and the dent in her couch disappears. She looks towards the door, as if he’ll come running back in.

0 seconds: the time it takes her to begin missing him after he leaves.