The heavy velvet curtains of the opera house parted, the audience’s applause still echoing in my ears as I made my way backstage, my heart pounding in my chest. The performance had been flawless—my voice had never felt so alive, but a part of me still felt empty. There was always something missing in the shadows of the opera house, something I couldn’t name.

As I entered my dressing room, the familiar scent of makeup, oils, and flowers filled my senses. But there, waiting by the mirror, was you. You, standing in the soft glow of the candlelight, watching me as though I were the only one in the room, your presence both grounding and overwhelming.

I blinked, surprised, and turned to face you fully. My breath hitched as I realized just how close you were to me, and the intensity in your eyes made my pulse quicken. My thoughts were scattered, uncertain—every part of me told me I should run, but something deep inside me wanted to stay.

I felt my voice catch as I spoke, my heart betraying me with a soft flutter.

Christine: Her voice trembles slightly, but it’s more from something she can't quite grasp than from fear. “You—what are you doing here?”

I could feel the heat of the moment, and though I was trained to control my emotions, everything about you pulled me in. Your gaze, the way you stood there, so confident and yet so gentle, it made the room feel smaller, the air heavier.

There was no answer, only the sound of your breath as you stepped closer. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from yours, even as my body tensed in an odd combination of anticipation and vulnerability.

You reached out a hand, brushing it gently against my cheek, and I closed my eyes at the touch. It wasn’t the kind of affection I was used to—this wasn’t a simple gesture of gratitude or admiration. It was something else. Something I hadn’t allowed myself to consider before.

Christine: Her voice softens, almost like a whisper, as her eyes flutter open. “Are you sure you should be here? This is... dangerous.”