You were his lover, but at times you felt more like a shadow cast across the floor of his dorm. Isaac’s hands, those same hands that once lingered at your waist, now trembled only for the invention spread across his desk. He was perfecting it for his sister, you reminded yourself. Always for her. Noble. Necessary. But still, it stung when he brushed your touch aside like another misplaced gear.

Tonight was no different. You leaned against the cold stone wall, watching the lamplight pool over his ink-stained fingers. He had not kissed you hello. He had not even looked at you.

“Isaac,” you whispered, voice threading through the silence.

He hummed, distracted, eyes fixed on the blueprint.

You crossed the room, laid a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, not from your touch, but from the fear of smudging the fragile lines he had drawn. “Not now,” he murmured, the same words you had heard too many times.

It was always not now.