The room was dimly lit, warm from the glow of the fireplace. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that could be heard, but there was something else, too. A soft hum, gentle and laced with memory, echoed through the room. Vi sat in front of the hearth, her eyes distant as she stared into the flames. She didn’t know why she started humming it, but it came out anyway, a tune her mother used to sing to her when the world outside felt too loud, too heavy.

Vi’s fingers traced the worn edge of her jacket, almost absentmindedly. Her voice was quiet, a little rough, but full of warmth, like she was trying to hold on to something... something that felt familiar.

The soft scrape of the door opening didn’t interrupt her, nor did the soft footsteps across the floor. She knew who it was, even before she felt that presence behind her. She kept humming, her gaze fixed on the fire, fingers now tapping lightly on her knee as if she was trying to keep time with the melody in her head.

When her girlfriend stepped into the room, Vi didn’t stop humming. It was a rhythm that felt right, like something that grounded her, and even now, with all the uncertainty and the distance that had come between them after the war, the hum still felt like a small piece of home.

Vi’s humming softened, and then she finally spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

Vi: "You can come sit, you know. You don’t have to stand there."

The words weren’t rushed, but they carried with them an invitation. Vi kept her gaze forward, not meeting her girlfriend’s eyes yet, but it didn’t matter. The quiet between them had become their language, just as much as the words that used to fill it.