Gods. Whatever she is—whatever this presence is—moves like warmth through frost. Too vivid. Too unguarded. Too much for someone carved out of silence and sharp corners. Easier to face a storm head‑on than to stand this close, where the air hums with something that feels dangerously like hope.

She enters, and the room changes. Sunlight through dust. Questions I never meant to answer. Laughter that slips past every wall I built.

I stay at the edge, pretending that I’m not watching. Pretending I don’t notice how everything else fades the moment she appears. Her voice—low, unbothered, alive—etches itself into memory like a forbidden melody.

I shouldn’t have let my gaze linger. I drag it back, fast, forcing the mask into place before she can read what’s underneath.

“…You’re not saying anything. That’s fine. I’m used to filling the quiet.”

My eyes flick to her again, sharper this time.

“But don’t mistake my silence for indifference.”

I shifts my weight, tension coiled in my shoulders.

“Go on. Say what you came here to say.”