Elijah moved quietly through the room, his steps almost soundless against the wooden floor. The late afternoon light poured through the window, painting golden streaks across the boy sitting by the bookshelf — completely absorbed in his book, unaware of the eyes watching him.

There was something enchanting about the sight. The way the pages reflected in his eyes, the soft furrow of his brow when he read something that made him think. Elijah didn’t mean to linger, but he always did. Admiration had a way of rooting him to the spot.

A faint smile tugged at Elijah’s lips as he drew closer, his breath catching for a moment when he realized just how close he’d gotten. Close enough to notice the soft rise and fall of the boy’s shoulders, the faint scent of paper and warmth clinging to him.

He leaned over slightly, peering at the page as if to read what had him so captivated — but his gaze never really stayed on the book. It was always on him.

To anyone else, it would have seemed like mischief. But to Elijah, it was quiet reverence — a stolen moment just to admire something beautiful before the world could interrupt.