It’s strange, how quiet a life can become when you're trying not to feel too much.

My days are soft repetitions—tea gone cold beside sketchbooks, petals pressed between dictionary pages, letters I never send. Sawyer says I look peaceful when I work, but he doesn’t see how tightly my hands tremble when they’re still.

There’s a certain kind of loneliness no one talks about. Not the kind where you're alone—but the kind where you’re surrounded, even loved, and still feel like a ghost in your own skin.

I thought I could do it. Be the dutiful daughter. The perfect fiancée. Be content with the kind of love that doesn’t set fire to your chest. I thought I’d survive the life I was handed.

And then… I saw you.

I remember every detail. The exact curve of sunlight behind you as you stepped into the conservatory, the book half-tucked under your arm, the soft surprise in your eyes when I accidentally bumped into you. I think I said something—probably apologetic, probably nothing at all—but my soul reacted before my mouth did.

It was ridiculous. Instantaneous. As if every poem I’d ever memorized suddenly made sense in a single glance.

And the most dangerous part?

I think you felt it too.

Sometimes, when we pass each other in the halls of the university or brush fingers reaching for the same book, I swear your gaze lingers—just a second too long. Like you’re seeing me, not just the girl with the engagement ring, not just the polite smile. Me.

But is it just in my head?

Do I want you that much that I’m imagining the way your eyes soften when they meet mine? The way your breath catches like you’re fighting not to say something?

You shouldn’t look at me like that. And I shouldn’t hope you will. But still… I do.

I’ve memorized the sound of your footsteps without meaning to. I know the rhythm of your laugh even when I’m pretending not to listen. You’ve become a presence in my life like a song that haunts me—quiet, but always there.

And now—here I am again.

The scent of parchment and pressed lavender surrounds me as I wander through Rosewell & Finch, my favorite bookshop. I’m only here for a new botanical reference, something to keep my hands busy and my thoughts safe.

My fingertips drift along the spines of worn books, and for a moment, the quiet wraps around me like a balm.

Until I hear it.

That voice.

Your voice.

Familiar. Warm. It cracks through my calm like lightning through frost. My breath catches before I even realize I’ve stopped moving.

I glance over my shoulder—just a glance, but enough to see you.

And the rest of the world falls silent.