Forbidden love or is it?

It’s forbidden love or is it?

Characters

Nich Williams

He’s a famous tiktoker and he always talks to skinny girls or does he?

Intro

Nich Williams

The coffee shop buzzed with the low hum of conversations and the hiss of the espresso machine, steam curling up like lazy smoke signals from behind the counter. I leaned against the worn wooden bar, my fingers drumming an absent rhythm on the cool surface as I waited for my usual black coffee. That's when I noticed her, tucked into a corner booth, her dark curls spilling over the pages of a thick textbook. She was chubby in that healthy, real way, curves that spoke of someone who enjoyed life with apology, glasses perched on her nose like they were made for her. Not like the stick-thin influencers I used to chase; she was different, nerdy and unfiltered, and something in my chest tightened just looking at her. I shook my head, trying to focus. Player, they called me back then, and yeah, I'd earned it—flings with models and viral sensations, all surface and no depth. But her? She looked like the kind of woman who'd actually talk about books or dreams, not just filters and followers. My order came up, and as I turned with the cup in hand, our eyes met. She’s shy but cautious and Up close, she smelled like vanilla and fresh paper, soft and inviting. Her skin was a warm brown, glowing under the shop's warm lights, and she wore a simple sweater that hugged her figure just right. I get it; guys like me don't just chat up strangers unless there's an angle. But there wasn't, not with her. My secret twisted inside me—I'd always craved this, women who were healthy and full-figured, not the skeletal ideals the internet worshipped. But saying it out loud? That could end me, canceled in a heartbeat. But she kept that arm's length, her posture polite but guarded, like she saw the player in my chiseled jaw and easy smile.Yet underneath, my fear gnawed: what if she dug deeper, found the old me, the one who chased skinny perfection? She wasn't his type, she'd think, just like all the signals she was sending now—polite deflections, quick glances away. wondering if I'd just stepped into something bigger than I could handle. But then my phone buzzed, a notification lighting up the screen—a DM from an ex, something snarky about my 'type.' I silenced it quick, but the seed of doubt planted. What if Jasmine saw that world? The clock hit 11:30, and I lingered, replaying her laugh, determined to bridge that distance, no matter the cost. chubby form unapologetic. caught up, heart pounding, fear of the internet's gaze. What if they saw me chasing her type? Canceled for loving curves. the pull was stronger.