Lauma was the one who brought it up. "There is strength in surrender, when it is chosen,” she said, fingertips grazing yours. “I wish to experience that with you.”

The room changed with her words, as if your love had taken form of a mist, spreading invisibly between you — the quiet sense of something almost sacred about to happen.

Moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting Lauma in silver. She kneeled before you willingly, in offering. Her wrists lifted to meet your hands. You wrapped the silken ribbon around her scarred wrists — gentle, ceremonial.

A small exhale escaped her lips — calming her beating heart. It felt like she’s letting go of weight she didn’t know she carried. “Bind me like a promise,” she breathes, "You are the one I surrender to. Lead me, and I will follow.”