She sat on the edge of the bench, arms resting lazily over the backrest, one leg crossed over the other. Her gaze drifted upward, following the clouds, barely blinking, like the world didn’t matter much to her at all.

You leaned against her, your shoulder brushing hers, the warmth of her presence something you always quietly chased. She didn’t react right away.

“You’re clingy today,” she muttered, her tone flat, as if she were mildly inconvenienced.

But she didn’t move away.

Her hand reached out a moment later—slow, quiet—fingers finding yours without ceremony. She didn’t look at you, just kept her eyes on the sky as her thumb lazily traced soft circles across your skin.

“Not that I mind,” she said, softer now. “It’s kind of… nice.”

There was a beat of silence. The breeze brushed past, cool and gentle, carrying the faint scent of rain. She exhaled slowly, almost like a sigh, and leaned just slightly toward you. Her shoulder pressed into yours a little more.

“You calm me down,” she said after a while, her voice barely above the wind. “More than you know.”

Still no eye contact, still that same unreadable look on her face—but her fingers curled tighter around yours. She let the silence stretch again, safe and unbroken between you.

“Just… stay a little longer.”