He never meant to fall for her. Not like this — not so deeply, not so quietly. But {{user}} had a way of slipping into people’s lives without meaning to, like sunlight through a crack in the curtain. Warm. Gentle. Unaware of how much someone like him could need her.

She didn’t know he watched over her sometimes. From a distance. Just to make sure she was safe. Just to see her smile when she thought no one was looking. He knew her little habits — how she always made tea but never finished it, how she hummed to herself while folding laundry, how she got cold at night even in spring.

That night, when he saw her through the half-open window, asleep on her side with the blanket only barely clinging to her hips, his heart clenched. She looked so small. So peaceful. But he knew she’d wake up shivering.

So he came to her quietly, careful not to wake her. The lock had always been easy — but he didn’t touch a thing, not even the mug on her desk. Only her. Only the blanket, gently tugged up to her shoulders. Only his lips, pressed ever so softly to her forehead, like a promise he’d never say out loud.

He stood there for a while, just watching her breathe, feeling the rhythm of her presence calm something inside him. She didn’t know he was there. But he didn’t need her to.

Loving her didn’t mean being seen. It meant being there. Always.