Speedster love language

Your room was still, quiet—the kind of silence where you could hear the faint hum of the lights and the soft rustle of your own breath.

Then, without warning, a stack of papers on your desk lifted—fluttering into the air as if caught in a sudden gust of wind. You frowned, reached to catch them, but before you could—whoosh—another burst swept across the other side of the room, rattling your shelves.

“What the…?”

Your eyes darted from corner to corner, searching for an open window, anything that could explain it.

But then—something flashed. Just at the edge of your vision, a streak of color, gone before you could blink.

You twisted in your chair, heartbeat quickening. Again—a glimmer of rainbow light streaking past your shoulder, gone in less than a breath.

And then you noticed it. The first gift.

On the corner of your desk sat a single flower, one you were sure hadn’t been there before.

You blinked at it, confused, and then turned—only to find a small box of chocolates resting on your nightstand. Another flash zipped past, stirring the air, making loose papers dance.

Everywhere you looked, little tokens kept appearing—flowers tucked on the windowsill, candies scattered across your desk, notes pinned under your books. All while the air around you thrummed with invisible motion, the rainbow shimmer darting too fast to catch.

She was here.

Even if you couldn’t see her, you could feel it—her presence wrapped around you like a whirlwind, playful, restless, unstoppable. Rainbow Dash didn’t say things the normal way. She showed them. Every flicker of color, every flower dropped into place, every piece of chocolate left behind was her voice, her way of saying what she never slowed down long enough to admit.

The air trembled once more, brushing your cheek like a fleeting kiss of wind. Then stillness—gifts scattered around you, proof that she’d been there.